The Fine Art of Blackmail
by JK Philips
Summary: BOOK FOUR in the DBC series, sequel to The Family Business. Wolfram and Hart force Giles and Buffy to face a past they thought behind them.
1. The Deal He Can't Refuse

ORIGINALLY POSTED: October 11, 2002  
TITLE: The Fine Art of Blackmail  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Family Business, Giles and Buffy have their daughter back and are running the Council, but will Wolfram and Hart use Giles' past sins to destroy the life they've built?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

This is the epilogue to a trilogy, set after the events in "Death Brings Clarity," "The Ticking Clock," and "The Family Business." (Technically a fourth book, I suppose. But what would it be then? A quadogy?)

If you haven't read the first three books, you might not be able to follow this one very well, as I've gotten pretty far AU at this point in time. You can find them all archived at any number of sites including mine. If you need a refresher as to the events of the previous books, here's a brief synopsis.

Last time on Buffy the Vampire Slayer:  
After the spear through the side and the RV crash in "Spiral," as Giles is dying on the table in the gas station, he has an epiphany and realizes he's in love with Buffy. It's too late for him as the events of the final episodes lead quickly to Buffy's death. Buffy herself becomes a ghost, watching over Dawn and Giles as he assumes the role of her guardian. Buffy can't help but fall in love with Giles as she watches him take care of her sister with such devotion. But, alas, also too late for Buffy who is, of course, dead. Then there is a spell (isn't there always?) and Buffy comes back to life and back to Giles, and the two are now a couple. After a brief custody battle with her father, Buffy becomes Dawn's legal guardian on the condition that Giles remain living in their house as a kind of co-guardian.

Five months later, Buffy has an inexplicable and powerful urge to mate and hunt. Turns out slayers have a shorter biological clock to match their shorter lifespan, and her body is pushing her to have a baby. After her "heat" passes, she'll never be able to have children again, so she convinces Giles to father a baby with her. They soon learn that her slayer gifts have even more surprises in store for her, shortening her pregnancy from nine months to nine weeks and giving them twins. Things go from bad to worse as Randall's father (remember Randall and Eyghon from "The Dark Age?") seeks vengeance for his son's death at Giles' hands. He steals their twins after birth and disappears. They get their son back, but not their daughter. They can't find her, and the agency lost the paperwork on her adoption. They seek help from Angel, who takes them to meet the Host at his karaoke bar. Giles and Buffy sing, and the Host tells them they will get their daughter back as a little girl and not any sooner. She has two possible futures after coming home: they will either be able to keep her and raise her or else they will lose her again and she will be raised into darkness.

Three years later, their son Alex is having prophetic dreams of his missing sister, and Angel eventually finds her for them. Unfortunately, the Council also finds the girl, and Buffy and Giles learn their daughter Robin is a potential slayer. Blackmailed by Travers, Giles leaves her with her adoptive parents rather than condemn her to the Council's proscribed slayer training. But then an ex-lawyer, now turned vampire, from Wolfram and Hart launches an attack to eliminate all the potential slayers everywhere. Only Alex's vision of her danger allows Giles to save Robin in time. She is left as the only remaining potential slayer. The vampire lawyer steps up his campaign and destroys the Watcher's Council, leaving only Giles and Travers, who is later killed as well. Giles attempts a spell to find the perpetrators, but ends up on the wrong side of Willow's wrath. After Tara's death, Willow has fallen in with the wrong group of friends, a coven of witches who have slowly turned her against her former friends. While Giles is trapped by Willow's spell, the twins are kidnapped, and the rest of the Scoobies plan a desperate rescue. Spike finds the key to free Giles, and a final oceanside showdown reveals to Giles the true nature of watchers and slayers as he becomes his slayer's armor, protecting her from the coven with magic, his shield to her sword. Victorious, the scoobies tie up loose ends: Giles locks away Willow's magic until she can prove herself trustworthy again, Buffy helps Giles cope with the lingering trauma of Willow's spell, and both parents attempt to build a relationship with their newly returned daughter. As the last watcher, Giles inherits the task of rebuilding the Council, knowing with a sad certainty that his daughter will be the next slayer. Little do any of them know that they have piqued Wolfram and Hart's interest, and Lilah Morgan has found in the Council rubble the tapes Travers had planned to blackmail Giles with: Lilah knows that Giles murdered Ben and ordered Longsworth and Sulla killed. More than that, she has the proof.

Now moving on...  
(Aren't you impressed that I summarized more than 600 pages in less than a page? It's harder than you might think.)

* * *

Six months later…

Part 1: The Deal He Can't Refuse

Giles stopped and did a doubletake as he passed the dining room table. Buffy was sorting through an entire shoe box worth of brochures. One of them had caught his eye: a colorful snapshot of a full retinue of circus performers: trapeze, clowns, contortionists, sword-swallowers, and a woman in little more than a sequined bathing suit, sitting astride an elephant. Buffy was holding the brochure in her hands, studying it thoughtfully.

"Dear Lord, Buffy!" he exclaimed. "You're not hiring on an entire circus."

She didn't even glance at him. "Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, they're not likely to fit in our backyard. For another…" He leaned over her shoulder, one hand resting on the back of her chair, the other pointing at the sword-swallower in the picture. "Don't you think we'd be taking Alex to the ER the very next day, after he tries to stick a steak knife down his throat?"

"Okay, ixnay on the sword-swallower. No fire-eaters, either. But the rest would be fun."

Giles sighed and pulled up a chair beside her. He removed his glasses and spoke very softly, so any eavesdropping children wouldn't hear him. "This isn't the last birthday you'll spend with them, Buffy."

"You don't know that," she replied, equally quiet.

He didn't have an answer for that, so he remained silent. Buffy's twenty-fifth birthday would come shortly after the twins' fourth. One more year, and she would be living on borrowed time, would be setting the new record for oldest slayer. The close calls seemed to be getting even closer lately, and Giles wondered if slayers lost their edge after a certain number of years, if their bodies were driven to die and Call the next, younger slayer.

Buffy shook her head, clearing away her own morbid thoughts, probably similar in nature to his, except missing that magic number twenty-six.

"Really, it's not about that, Giles," she assured him. "This will be Robin's first birthday with us, and I want it to be special."

"She'll be four. Give her some cake and a party hat, and she'll be thrilled. Ten years from now, she won't even remember her birthday."

Buffy paled several shades, her face draining of emotion and clouding over with the bleak, haunted expression she wore after each close call. Giles realized he had royally screwed up that pep talk, and it was too late to pull his foot out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry. That's… that's not what I meant." He tossed his glasses on the table and rubbed his hand over his face. "I only meant that she won't remember this specific day, what we did, if there were clowns or magicians or what have you. She'll remember the things that mattered: spending time with us and what we did together, not just on her birthday, but on all the other days too." He met her eyes. He could see that she very much wanted to believe him. "Buffy, think back to when you were a little girl. What is your most vivid memory from when you were her age?"

She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought. The memory washed over her face in the next moment, filling it with a mixture of happiness and innocence and longing. "I remember Dad took me to work one day. He'd never done that before. I guess, looking back on it, it wasn't a big deal; he probably just decided to go in on a Saturday and Mom couldn't watch me or something. But I was so excited to go to work with Dad, and he let me sit in his big leather chair and spun me around in circles." She smiled bashfully. "Stupid, huh?"

"Not at all," he answered very seriously. "That's a lovely memory of your father."

"Okay, I get it. It's the little things that matter." She set the brochure aside. "No big top this year. But maybe pony rides?" she asked hopefully.

Giles rolled his eyes, grabbed his glasses, and stood up. He started out of the dining room, slipping the frames back on as he went.

"And maybe two parties?" she added brightly.

He stopped and pivoted to face her. "_Two_ parties?"

"Well, Alex hasn't been very happy about having to share his birthday with his sister, so I thought we should maybe give them separate birthday parties."

Giles shook his head in disbelief. "I leave it up to you. Whatever kind of party or part_ies_ you think they should have. Just… no live animals. And nothing that will require permission slips from the other parents."

"Darn. Guess parachuting's out."

Giles balked, and she laughed.

"_Kidding_, Giles. Jeeze, lighten up."

"You laugh," he shook his finger at her as he continued out of the dining room and into the foyer, "but our son would do it."

He opened the front door, stepping out onto the porch to check for the mail, the direction he had been heading before Buffy's birthday party plans had distracted him. The mailman must have been running late, and Giles had already checked the box three times in the last hour. He was expecting an important delivery.

He wasn't expecting the woman walking up their sidewalk.

She was dressed in a tailored black pinstripe pantsuit and talking on a cell phone. She hung up as soon as she saw him and continued up the walk, boldly striding up the porch steps and stopping directly in front of him. A black limo was parked at the curb, waiting for her.

"Mr. Giles," she said warmly. "Just the person I came to see."

He frowned as he studied her. Her dark auburn hair fell straight and long, and she tossed it over one shoulder with a confident arrogance he was sure spelled trouble. "Do I know you?" She obviously seemed to know him.

She offered out her hand. "Lilah Morgan."

He shook it hesitantly, still unsure what she wanted from him. Since becoming the head of the Watchers' Council, it seemed every Sunnydale entrepreneur had some kind of profitable investment in mind for Giles' newfound wealth. "Let me guess," he grumbled. "You have a business proposition for me."

Lilah smiled approvingly. "Straight to the point. I like that."

He pulled out a business card from his front shirt pocket, with the practiced air of a man who did that quite often. "Feel free to give my secretary a call and arrange an appointment. But this is my home, and I'm not currently available to discuss business."

He turned his back on her, intending to go back inside without checking on the mail. He didn't want to be harassed at home; he didn't want Buffy to be harassed at work. If he gave this woman anymore of his time, then everyone would try surprising him when he stepped out to pick up the morning paper or went out for groceries.

This woman didn't give up easily. She continued, speaking quickly as he reached for the doorknob. "Maybe your wife has time to talk with me. I'm sure you've already told her how you put a hit out on Longsworth and Sulla."

Giles froze with his hand on the knob. His stomach plummeted into his toes. After the Council's destruction, he had thought himself safe from their blackmail. The special operatives who had done the job were dead, and he had presumed the tapes were ruined, buried somewhere beneath the London rubble. He had never thought to hear those names again.

He lowered his hand slowly and turned to face her once more. He remained composed, but he was fairly certain she could see that she had rattled him. He waited for her to make the first move. No point in giving anything away until he knew how much she knew.

She offered out a business card of her own, her smile turning smug. "We have something you want; you have something we want."

He took a single glance at her card, slipping it in his pocket quickly, before the trembling cardstock could reveal his shaking hands. "Ah, the infamous Wolfram and Hart," he commented. "Have you finally grown bored with harassing Angel Investigations?"

"I assure you," she replied, "Wolfram and Hart are the victims in this particular situation. Angel has stolen an object of great importance from my employer. Since _you_ are technically _Angel's_ employer, I thought we could prevail upon you to recover our property."

"And if I do? What then?"

She twisted sideways and opened the fashionable purse that bumped against her hip. From inside she pulled out an unlabeled audiotape and handed it to him. "Wolfram and Hart recently came into possession of some tapes that were recovered from the ruins of the C.O.W. headquarters in London. Of course, if you were to help us with this small Angel problem, we would be more than willing to take you on as a client."

Giles' eyebrows rose. "Client?"

"Normally, Wolfram and Hart would be legally, morally, and ethically obligated to report this evidence." Her straight-face as she laid claim to _having_ morals or ethics made him laugh. She seemed not to notice his amusement. "If you were our client, however, you would be protected by attorney/client privilege and only a subpoena could force us to turn over these tapes."

He shook his head and crossed his arms. "Although in that case, no one would be filing any subpoenas. You're the only ones that have any idea what I did."

"You want to keep it that way? Five days, Mr. Giles. You have five days to recover the Ring of Gorlois from Angel Investigations." Her eyes narrowed, becoming hard as glass. "Let me paint you a picture of your life if you choose to refuse our generous offer: you can expect one of Wolfram and Hart's own lawyers to be heading up the prosecution. You _will_ be convicted on three counts of murder: Longsworth, Sulla, and Ben. You will watch your children grow up, separated from them by a pane of glass. That is if their mother decides to forgive you, both for your crimes and the lies you must have told her to conceal them. Otherwise, she may never bring them in to see you. But I'm sure the satisfaction of knowing you didn't cave in to a bunch of evil lawyers will be enough to keep you company through those long, lonely years."

He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands at his side. "Are you quite through?"

"Five days, Mr. Giles. You have my number." She turned away from him, starting back down the sidewalk towards her limo and calling out on her cell phone again before she'd even reached the curb.

* * *

Buffy glanced up as the front door closed. Giles looked to be in a sour mood. "Mail still didn't come, huh?"

Her voice seemed to startle him out of a daze, and he glanced over at her with a puzzled frown. "Pardon?"

"Mail? No show?"

"Oh," he answered, finally catching on. "Yes. I-I mean, no… Er, no , it hasn't come yet."

He had something in his right hand, something he was absently rubbing at with his thumb. She pointed at it and asked, "So, what's that then?"

"Hmm?" He looked down to where she was pointing and seemed to notice the object in his hands for the first time. "Nothing," he insisted almost too forcefully, as he shoved what appeared to be a music tape or something into his pants pocket.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded and gave her a wan smile. He tossed his head in the direction of the backyard. "I'll just go… go check on the twins."

He was gone before she'd had a chance to answer.

"Okay, Giles," she murmured softly as she looked at the brochure in her hands, "Just let me know if you have any objections to hiring actors dressed as children's characters for an afternoon of nursery rhymes." She paused. Silence. "No? Okay. Barney and Sesame Street it is. And I don't want to hear any complaints."

She set the brochure on top of the stack with finality.

Another one caught her eye, and she picked it up. "Or… or maybe a magician. That's a classic." She groaned and threw her head back. "I'll never decide."

* * *

After the children were in bed, and he and Buffy had returned from patrol, he left his slayer to chat with their on-call babysitter, Marianne. (With Dawn off in college, backup babysitting was a must for possible slaying emergencies. They had purchased the house next door and paid their babysitter a handsome salary in addition to providing the roof over her head. A swell deal, since Giles preferred that either he or Buffy care for the children whenever possible, and so she was only called on when absolutely necessary, or when they patrolled together in the evenings.)

Marianne and Buffy sometimes liked to stay up late together after patrol, talking about things that would usually make them both giggle a lot. Sometimes, on nights where he just wanted to sleep or to get some serious research done, it irritated him slightly. Other nights, when Buffy returned from patrol feeling as though death was only one lucky vamp away, Giles thanked God that Marianne was waiting at home to lighten his slayer's mood. Tonight he was especially thankful for her presence. He left the two of them talking on the couch, discussing some movie that was supposed to be released soon, to which Buffy would no doubt drag him. He took the cordless phone to a private corner of the house and dialed Angel Investigations.

Wesley answered. The other watcher was just the person Giles had been hoping to reach.

"Wesley?"

"Giles!" he answered warmly. "Those new heat sensors you sent work marvelously. Fred tinkered with some of the code, and we can accurately identify more than 62 different kinds of demon by the variation in their body temperatures, down to less than a two percent temperature difference between species. Of course, for demons that are too close to the range of human body temperature, we daren't risk it, but-"

"Very good," Giles interrupted. "But I called about something specific."

"A case?"

"Not exactly."

"Another potential slayer? I know you'd hoped one would be born within the first year."

"No, no, Robin's still the only one, to the best of my knowledge."

"What is it?"

Giles took a deep breath. "An object stolen from Wolfram and Hart. The Ring of Gorlois."

A long pause answered him, and Giles wondered briefly if Lilah Morgan had drawn the wrong conclusions. Perhaps Angel Investigations didn't have her ring.

"Yes, Angel acquired it off a lawyer he accosted in a parking lot."

So much for that hope. "Accosted? Are you telling me Angel mugged this lawyer?"

Wesley laughed nervously. "No, of course not. Wolfram and Hart have been on us with an Equal Opportunity suit ever since we refused to hire the spy they sent in to apply as our new file clerk. Angel thought he could try a little intimidation on the man heading the case."

"So he pilfered the man's pockets?"

"He was going for the man's cell phone. Angel ditched him in the middle of nowhere and wanted to insure he had a long walk back to the home office. The ring just happened to be a lucky break. Angel didn't know what he'd found until he'd shown it to me."

"What can you tell me about it?"

"The Ring of Gorlois?" Wesley seemed to consider it. "Legend has it that it's the very ring Merlin enchanted to gain Uther entrance into Cornwall and into Igraine's bed. Supposedly, it gave him the appearance of Gorlois and fooled the guards into letting him pass."

"Nonsense."

"Be that as it may…" Wesley seemed to agree with Giles' dismissal of the ring's fanciful origins. "The ring does possess the power to give its wearer the complete illusion of another person."

"Shapeshifting?"

"Not exactly. Shapeshifting takes a great deal of power and skill to do, especially anything so difficult as the nuances of specific human faces and voices. And should the spellcaster need rest or the spell be disturbed, the illusion would be broken. No, with this ring, all that is required is for the person to wear it, and the illusion would hold for as long as the ring remains on their finger."

Giles pondered that. "What were Wolfram and Hart planning to do with this artifact?"

"I shudder to think."

And there was the answer to the question that had been simmering in the back of his mind. Would this one little trade be such a high price to pay? Yes. With this ring, Wolfram and Hart could impersonate whoever they liked. Frame innocent people. Gain access to places and information they shouldn't. Giles wondered if the Ring of Gorlois would get them past retinal scans and fingerprinting. Perhaps the illusion would be strong enough to fool even magical detection. "You have the ring somewhere safe, I assume."

"Of course," Wesley answered. "Wolfram and Hart would need supernatural assistance to find it."

Giles nodded to himself, although the other watcher, of course, couldn't see it. It was settled. He couldn't give Lilah what she wanted, not even in exchange for his own freedom. "Good. Keep it safe. I'll check in with you later." Giles hung up the phone and stared at the receiver for a long while.

Five days.

He had five days to get his affairs in order.

Next: Part 2: Hard Time


	2. Hard Time

ORIGINALLY POSTED: October 14, 2002  
TITLE: The Fine Art of Blackmail  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Family Business, Giles and Buffy have their daughter back and are running the Council, but will Wolfram and Hart use Giles' past sins to destroy the life they've built?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Chapter 2: Hard Time

He didn't sleep well that night, or truly any night that followed. He supposed he could sleep all he liked in prison. He would rather make the most of the time he had left. Whenever sleep eluded him, he would watch Buffy's peaceful slumber, would lightly trace his fingers across the curves of her cheekbones, careful not to wake her. Sometimes she would turn into his caress, and in her sleep she would pull herself into his arms, and he would hold her in a desperate and tight embrace, kissing her forehead and trying not to imagine what the rest of his life would be like without her.

He wanted to confess everything to her. There were moments when they would first climb into bed or when they would first sit down on the couch after putting the children to sleep, that he would say her name, and she would look at him expectantly. He never got any further than that. He would smile and shake his head and say it was nothing. Tomorrow. He always promised himself that he would tell her tomorrow. Until he finally decided that there was no point in telling her until he absolutely had to, no point in upsetting her, no point when there was nothing she could do to stop it. Better that their last days together be happy rather than filled with arguments and high emotions. It was a lie, a lie that didn't even convince him. He was a coward, as plain and simple as that. He would hear her voice in his head, repeating the warning she had given him in India, the words that had finally dropped the gun from his hand and temporarily spared Longsworth's life: _You do this, and you'll be _exactly_ what Longsworth thinks you are. You'll be a killer, and you won't be the man I love anymore._ The memory of those words would stop his confession before it could ever leave his lips. When she knew the truth of what he had done, would she forgive him or abandon him?

Eventually his time simply ran out. No more time to wrestle with his conscience, no more chances to almost confess to her and then back out, no more time, period. Five days pass very quickly for the condemned.

They came for him while he was on a site survey with Xander. The construction crews were laying the foundation for what would become the new Council headquarters. Not half a world away, but right at the mouth of Hell, where it could be of the most use to the Slayer. The rubble of the high school had already been cleared away and in its place Giles would build his vision of the Council: a Council of Watchers who would stand beside their slayers, who would be the hand of magic, the shield to the Slayer's sword. The twins were at his side, wearing their tiny hardhats, although the small group was only viewing the construction site at a distance, Xander pointing out where the various secret passageways had already been poured.

Giles didn't see the officers until they were standing on the rise beside them. Xander smiled and called out a friendly greeting, thinking perhaps that Buffy had sent them. Giles knew better. They were friends of Buffy's; that much was certain. He had seen them at various police functions. But they were there on business.

"Mr. Giles?" the first asked as he approached. Giles remember sharing a drink with the man after a ceremony honoring Buffy and April for their work on a particularly difficult case.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. I… I have a warrant." The officer wore a grim expression as one hand reached behind his back, presumably for handcuffs.

"Please," Giles pleaded softly. "Not in front of my children." He turned his head slightly in Xander's direction, not meeting his young friend's eyes, but rather staring at his work boots. "Xander, could you take them to the Magic Box for me? See if Anya will watch them until Marianne can come for them. Anya should have her pager number."

"Giles, what's going on? Should I get Buffy?" The alarm in his voice was unsettling the children. Robin wiggled her hand into her father's, and Alex dropped the stick he'd been using to dig in the dirt, looking back and forth between his father and his uncle with interest.

"No, she knows already, I'm sure. Just take the twins, please." He forced a reassuring smile for his children, and they went willingly with their Uncle Xander. Giles watched them until they were out of sight, and then faced the two officers waiting patiently beside him. "Alright, let's get this over with."

* * *

He waited alone in the bare interrogation room. He had asked for his lawyer, and he had asked for his wife. So far they had brought him neither. They had kindly brought him a cup of coffee, though, and a tape recorder on which they had played that fateful conversation with the Council's black ops. He was expecting it, however, and so it had failed to rattle him. When he had again asked for his lawyer, they had assured him that he had been sent for, and then they had left him alone.

Giles' eyes sometimes drifted up to the one-way mirror that stretched the breadth of one wall. He wondered who might be watching him, if maybe Buffy was standing on the other side of the glass, what she might see now when she looked at him. He wondered what she would tell their children. Coward that he was, he had neatly avoided that unpleasant duty by putting off his confession until it was too late. Would she tell them the truth? Would she tell them their father was a murderer? Or would she gloss over the exact details: their father had to go away for a while, but they could visit him sometimes like they did Faith?

He heard the lock click and the door open. His heart dropped when he saw it was only Xander.

"She wouldn't come," Giles guessed.

Xander paused for a long moment before finally shaking his head. "She's pretty mad. I think she just needs to cool off. I'm sure she'll come tomorrow." He sat on the opposite side of the table.

Giles bowed his head. "I've lost her." He voice was flat, resigned, defeated.

"No, don't be silly," Xander insisted. "You just have to give her a little time to deal."

Giles gave his friend a grateful, if doubtful, smile. They sat in silence as they waited for the lawyer to arrive. There was really nothing to say. Giles could feel the shift in their friendship, the awkwardness between them now as Xander tried to reconcile this new information with everything else he knew about the watcher. Buffy, at least, had known about Ben. But Xander had probably never guessed that his friend and mentor had the capacity to be a cold-blooded killer when given the right circumstances. Xander had never seen him in the factory, beating on Angelus with the flaming baseball bat and consumed by a single minded rage. Nor had he witnessed the cool and detached manner in which Giles had smothered Ben.

The lawyer arrived. The meeting was brief. Giles was advised to remain silent and was promised that his case would be given top priority. Such were the advantages that money could buy. Xander offered to play peacemaker with Buffy in order to hopefully convince her to come to the hearing the next day. The lawyer seemed to think that if a judge and jury could see a loving and supportive family sitting in the front row, Giles would present as a more sympathetic defendant.

Afterwards, he was taken to spend the night in lockup. Not a terribly daunting prospect in and of itself; he and Ethan had earned an overnight stay on more than one occasion in their youth. No, what was unbearable was the long walk leading him there. Giles was well-known to the police force of Sunnydale, both as Buffy's husband and as the previous owner of the Magic Box, now newly minted billionaire. This would likely feed the gossip mill for months. He heard the whispers as he approached each small group, the other officers quieting mid-word and following him with their eyes as he passed by. He ducked his head and understood now why people on the news were always holding their jackets over their faces. He felt terribly exposed with so many pairs of eyes drilling into him, shame burning his cheeks. He curled his hands tighter to his body, self-conscious of the handcuffs and wishing that his guards would walk him to his cell a little faster.

After the iron bars had locked behind him, there was very little for him to do, and pacing back and forth across the narrow confines of his cell grew tiresome rather quickly. So he simply lay down on the single cot and surprised himself by immediately falling asleep. He slept the hard, deep sleep of one who had spent the last five nights tossing and turning. Now that the dreaded event had actually arrived, his worry and anticipation disappeared, leaving in their place a calm acceptance. Whatever happened now was out of his control.

A hearing was scheduled before the judge the next day. The lawyer heading up his case brought him a clean suit to change into, and they walked into the courtroom together, Giles' eyes immediately scanning the gallery for familiar faces. Xander and Anya were there, as was Willow. Beyond that, the audience was mostly comprised of court reporters, a cluster of law students, and an assortment of curious gawkers. Giles wondered if he'd made the news.

But the one face he was truly looking for was absent: Buffy. She was still angry, and obviously even Xander had failed to persuade her to make an appearance.

Lilah Morgan sat at the prosecutor's table, although it was a local lawyer that actually argued the state's case. The judge came to a decision quickly. The evidence warranted a trial, and Giles would be held over without bail. That part caught him off guard, as he had hoped to return home for the duration of the trial, had hoped to be given that extra time to somehow work things through with Buffy. Now his only chance would be if she deigned to visit him, currently a highly unlikely possibility.

Giles glanced over at the prosecution's table and noticed that Lilah was smiling back at him smugly, her eyes measuring his reaction to the judge's denial of bail. Wolfram and Hart, it seemed, were responsible for the motion convincing the court that Giles was a flight risk.

He schooled his face into a neutral expression, although his heart was sinking with the knowledge that he would most likely never see his home again, or, unless some miracle lifted Buffy's anger, his wife and children. He folded his hands in his lap and became so lost in his maudlin thoughts that he didn't even notice the hearing was over until the bailiff had tapped him on the shoulder and motioned that it was time to go.

Xander called his name, and he turned, the bailiff kindly giving him a moment to speak with his friends.

"I brought you some books," Xander said. "You know, something to do. Figured you might be bored. The guard said he'd take them in to you."

Giles smiled slightly, his mind still brooding on his previous darker thoughts, but he was making an effort to be upbeat, for their sakes. "Thank you, Xander. That was very thoughtful of you. I was just thinking that it would be nice to have something to read."

"I put some of your favorite tea in the box too," Anya piped in eagerly. "And a whole carton of cigarettes. Because you can trade them for things. They do it all the time in the movies."

That did wrest a soft chuckle from him, and he reached out his hand to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

His eyes fell on Willow next. She was fidgeting with her hands and her head was bowed. One tear fell from her cheek, and he suspected there were more where that had come from. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently. Taking them all in a glance, he tried to reassure them. "I'll be fine. Honestly."

The bailiff cleared his throat, and Giles took the hint. He followed the man out of the courtroom and was quickly returned to his holding cell beneath the courthouse. Lilah was waiting for him in the corridor, leaning against the bars of the opposite cell. She crossed her arms as she saw him approach, that same smug smile plastered across her face as she watched them remove the handcuffs and lock him behind the bars.

He waited until they were alone to say anything. "I believe it's against the law for you to be here. Opposing counsel are required to go through my lawyer."

She strolled across the corridor, stopping a few inches from the bars. Her fingers idly walked up and down one length as she spoke. "It's not too late. The trial hasn't started yet. Tell me where the ring is, and I can get the whole thing dismissed."

"You've already given them the tape. You've already opened Pandora's box, as it were."

"And I'm saying we can still close it." Her voice became lower, more intense, her fingers now curling around the iron bars tightly. "Where is it?"

"I don't know," he answered quite honestly.

She took a few steps backwards. "Maybe this will jog your memory," she offered out casually. "Wolfram and Hart made arrangements for your stay here with State Corrections."

He raised one eyebrow coolly, not rising to the bait.

"Your cell is impervious to magic. The handcuffs they use for you too. We're aware that you can wield a sizeable amount of magical power when you choose to, and we've prepared for it."

"So?" Giles replied with feigned apathy.

"So: no popping out to pay a visit to the wife and kiddies. No spell to watch them from a distance. Nothing that would defeat the purpose of your being here. You're going to serve your time same as anyone else who didn't have an education in the black arts."

"I expected nothing less." He could see that she was growing irritated at her failure to rile him. Her jaw twitched slightly as she watched him, as she tried to find something to push him into revealing the location of the coveted ring.

She was getting warmer.

"You were claustrophobic for a while, weren't you, Mr. Giles? How's that going for you now? Any better?"

He had made great strides in the nine months since being trapped by Willow's spell. He hadn't had a panic attack since the summer, drove the minivan without problem, and slept as well as he had before his ordeal, which was to say sometimes well and sometimes not and sometimes facedown in a stack of books. But if he were to be honest with himself, it was still there below the surface, a fear he could not completely shake, could only bury deep and try to control. Lilah's mention of it seemed to rattle the cage of the claustrophobia he kept locked away. He was beginning to feel it awaken.

"You may change your mind about our deal," she speculated. "You're going to be in here a long time, and I imagine that for someone with your condition, this cell is going to feel a little smaller everyday. I just hope, for your sake, you have a change of heart while we can still do something to help you."

He knew his neutral expression had faltered. She seemed pleased at the effect her words had on him and left.

He was alone.

He curled his hands around the bars that locked him in. He didn't know why he felt compelled to test Lilah's claim. Why did the waiter's warnings that the plate was hot always prompt Buffy to touch it and see how hot? In the same way, Giles closed his eyes and tested the magic barrier that had supposedly been erected around him.

He got a nasty jolt for his trouble and ended on his butt on the floor. It appeared that, in this, Lilah was telling the truth.

He stood up and scanned the room with his eyes. It felt like it was shrinking, like he could reach out both hands and touch each wall.

He sat on the edge of his cot, rubbing his sweating palms across his knees and taking slow, calming breaths. His heart was already pounding, his hands shaking. If he wasn't careful, he would have another panic attack right here.

_It's not like before_, he reminded himself. _You can move. You can talk and read and walk circles in this little room if you like. It's not dark or silent or endless._

His eyes landed on the box Xander had brought for him. The guard must have left it while they were at the hearing. He reached over and dragged it closer. Xander had mentioned books, and that was exactly what Giles needed right now.

* * *

The trial passed quickly. His friends couldn't afford to be there everyday, but they took turns, and there was always someone sitting in the front row directly behind him, someone to talk with during the breaks, someone to bring him books or magazines or drawings from his children with which he could pass the time in the evenings while he was alone in his cell.

Xander would crack jokes and make sarcastic comments about the prosecuting lawyers and the possibility of inbreeding among the jurors. He could usually coax a genuine smile from Giles, and once he'd even elicited a brief fit of giggles when he'd told the story of the site inspector whom Alex had pummeled with water balloons when the unsuspecting man had made a wrong turn, ending in Giles' office instead of Xander's. Marianne, even, had blasted the man with her Supersoaker 3000, thinking at first that he was Xander. They would be lucky if the inspector didn't report half a dozen violations to fine them for. Giles' giggles attracted the attention of one of his lawyers, who frowned and scolded the two of them, insisting that a murder trial was hardly the place for jokes.

When it was Willow in the front row, the conversation would be more subdued. She would involve him in some slayer-related discussion, asking him to clarify specific points of demon lore or to help with tricky translations. She did the research for Buffy now, took the reports from his slayer after her patrols and followed up with the appropriate study. Giles suspected that Willow was only keeping him occupied with her questions, that she had already worked out the answers on her own.

Anya would give him the baby to hold during the breaks, and the girl was always trying to pull his glasses off his face, usually poking his eyes with her chubby little fingers in the process. His lawyer would smile at the scene, hopeful that the vision of Giles holding a happy baby would sway the jurors in their favor. Even if it wasn't his child or his wife.

His wife and his children never came.

John came sometimes in the late afternoons, after school had let out. Poor John had no clue why his friend was sitting trial for murder; he hadn't the slightest inkling about watchers and slayers and demons and magic. He taught second grade, had sat on the back porch with Giles while their wives talked cop talk in the kitchen, and had sometimes babysat the twins when Marianne needed to go out of town. This was outside of his experience, and yet he came sometimes to offer his quiet support.

April came twice. She didn't mention Buffy, but she did inform him that he was the hottest piece of gossip at the station and was on the news most every night. She teased that she was going to sell the shirt he'd left at their house on Ebay. Then she gave him the inside scoop on each of the lawyers acting as opposing counsel.

Buffy never came. Never sent a letter. Never picked up the phone when he called. Never brought their children to see him. The trial lasted over a month, and if that weren't enough time to cool her anger, then there was no hope that it ever would.

When the last day came, and each side made its closing arguments, the courtroom was full, his friends all sitting in the front row and the rest of the gallery packed with people who had been following the trial on the news. He had held onto the tiniest bit of hope that she would come, but he felt the familiar pang of disappointment when he saw that she had not.

They waited for the verdict in a side conference room. Six lawyers he had working in his defense, and not one of them seemed very upbeat. His friends tried harder to fake optimism, but Giles soon saved them the trouble.

"Look, we all know what the verdict will be. Let's not spend however long it takes the jury to deliberate sitting in here worrying about it."

Anya suggested Monopoly. He wasn't sure what his lawyers had expected, but that was not it. They watched with incredulous fascination as the six friends played board games. The baby sat on his knee, her hands constantly reaching for the game tokens, and she finally started crying when he wouldn't let her have any. Willow took the infant- she'd already gone bankrupt- and walked the length of the conference room until the baby had fallen asleep in her arms.

April and Xander were soon out of the game, too, leaving just Anya, Giles, and John. The game turned cutthroat. Anya considered herself the epitome of capitalist superiority and losing at Monopoly would be like failing the board exams for the title. John had taught the second grade for over twenty-five years and was no slouch at playing games. Giles just felt the need to win at _something_ today.

Anya landed on Boardwalk, where Giles had already placed a hotel. She would have to mortgage all her utilities to pay him and was well on her way to Chapter 11. John, on the other hand, controlled more than half the board.

But winning didn't appear to be in the cards for Giles today. That was the moment the bailiff came in to inform them that the jury had returned with their verdict. The game would have to be a draw.

Anya offered him one of her playing cards. "Want my 'Get out of jail free' card?"

"Anya!" Xander scolded, not finding her joke very amusing.

Giles, however, laughed and took it. He could have a dark sense of humor sometimes.

They filed back in the courtroom, the rest of the audience already present and waiting, the jury sitting in their box, and Lilah making a small slashing motion across her throat as she met his eyes. The deal was off; he had passed the point of no return.

Giles stood at polite attention, his entourage of lawyers standing to either side of him, as the foreman read the verdict. He was prepared for it, but even so, hearing the word 'guilty' was a blow for any man. He heard Willow burst into tears behind him and, appropriately enough, the baby joined her.

He was escorted back to his cell to await sentencing the next day.

Three consecutive terms. That's what he got. Transferred to the LA prison where he would spend the rest of his life, he said goodbye to his friends, thanked his lawyers for their efforts, and was escorted from the courtroom for the last time.

* * *

Xander and Anya were the first to visit him in LA. The baby was asleep in her mother's arms. Giles sat at the small wooden table, separated from them by thick glass. Xander lifted the telephone receiver, and Giles followed.

"Hey, gettin' settled in?" Xander asked.

"I've managed to unpack, yes," Giles answered with a ghost of a smile. He had exactly one box of belongings.

"Gotta say, better than the tweed," Xander commented, gesturing with one hand to the plain gray prison jumper Giles wore. "Although I liked the suits you wore at the Magic Box better. Classy."

"Yes, well, I don't have to launder these, so there's an upside."

Anya tugged on Xander's sleeve, and the two of them had a brief conversation Giles couldn't hear. Finally, Xander put the receiver back to his mouth. "Anya wants me to ask if you've seen Faith."

"They don't as a rule mingle the men with the women."

"That's what I tried to tell her."

They chatted for a short while about inconsequential things. Giles didn't ask about Buffy, nor did they volunteer any information. If she had forgiven him, she would have been there. Anya took the receiver and talked with him for a short while. She mentioned what Xander hadn't: that the twins had been asking for their father, that they missed him. Robin slept in one of his shirts, though it hung nearly to the ground on her. Alex carried his father's pocket watch around in his front pocket and often asked where the hands would be when it was time for Daddy to come home.

Giles swallowed and bowed his head. He missed his children more than he thought possible.

Xander and Anya had brought him a small care package, and the guard delivered it to him on the other side of the glass. A few more books, more tea, some chocolate, and pictures from the twins' fourth birthday party. He looked through the photos while his visitors were still there, and Xander filled in the details for each one. There were some photos of Buffy as well, helping the children to unwrap their gifts and blow out their candles. She was smiling, but it didn't hide the deeper sadness he saw in her eyes. He had hurt her, disappointed her, made a mistake that would cost them their future together. He didn't blame her for hating him.

All too soon his allotted time ran out, and it was time to say goodbye. Xander and Anya left, and he was returned to his cell.

He had already hung a few of the children's drawings on the walls. It made the place seem less barren. He added a couple of the photos beside them, and then sat down on the cot, staring across at his collage. He sighed before flopping down on the bed, still holding one of the photos in his hands. He traced his fingers across the images of son and daughter, lingered briefly over that of Buffy, and then pressed the photo to his heart. Giles had never felt so homesick. As he stared up at the ceiling, he had to remind himself that this _was_ his home now.

* * *

Giles' heart was pounding, his breathing rapid and shallow. He sat bolt upright, disoriented in the darkness and sure that the room was closing in on him, that he could reach out in the darkness and touch all four walls of his prison. The darkness was suffocating, achingly familiar, and triggering the beginnings of a panic attack. He needed light.

"Guard," he called softly, his voice failing him as he fought to control his breathing. He swallowed, about to try again, only louder this time.

"Giles?"

Buffy's voice, coming from right beside him, her arms sliding around his waist and up his chest, encouraging him to lie back down on the bed. "Shhh… It's okay."

His hands covered hers, and then slowly traced a path up her arms, reassuring himself of her presence. "Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

He clasped her tightly to his chest, clutching her like a lifeline. "What are you doing here?" he whispered against her hair, his throat tight with emotion.

She squirmed in his embrace, adjusting herself into a more comfortable position. "I kinda live here."

"What?" he gasped, still not understanding, sleep still muddling his thoughts.

He felt her laugh against his chest. "You've been waking up with me for more than four years. Shouldn't be that much of a surprise."

He released her with one hand, unwilling to let go with the other, and with his free hand explored his surroundings. His fingers found the headboard, the edge of the mattress, knocked against the nightstand. He turned his head, and the faint green glow of the numbers on the clock radio threw a tiny circle of light into the otherwise pitch dark room.

"I'm home, in my bed," he concluded, still baffled by the reality of it.

"Yeah, you are." Buffy kissed his cheek. "If you were in anyone else's, I might have to do some serious ass kicking."

"But it seemed so real," he insisted, still afraid to believe that it had only been a nightmare. "What day is it?"

"Thursday." She paused. "Do you want me to get Robin's nightlight? Just for tonight maybe. You're still shaking."

"No, I… I… Thursday?" He thought back to when it had all started, before his conviction, before the trial, before his arrest. Thursday had been the day Lilah Morgan had first come to him, blackmailed him with the tapes, and demanded the return of the Ring of Gorlois. It was still that same night. He still had five days left before her deadline.

Holding Buffy in his arms, he knew the first thing he needed to do with that time.

"Buffy," he murmured softly, still remembering the pain of her abandonment from his dream, not entirely certain that he wasn't just dooming himself to repeat it. "There's something I need to tell you."

Next: Part 3: Coming Clean


	3. Coming Clean

ORIGINALLY POSTED: October 16, 2002  
TITLE: The Fine Art of Blackmail  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Family Business, Giles and Buffy have their daughter back and are running the Council, but will Wolfram and Hart use Giles' past sins to destroy the life they've built?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 3: Coming Clean

The darkness made it easier to say. He didn't have to look into her eyes as he said it, didn't have to see the hurt or disappointment or accusation that would surely be in them when he was done. Ironically enough, the darkness that so often stirred such terrifying memories of being trapped by Willow's spell would now give him the courage to confess.

"Buffy, there's something I've been keeping from you." She was silent, waiting patiently, and he pressed on. "There's really no way to pretty it up, no way to make it sound different than it is, so I'll just come out and say it. I killed Longsworth and Sulla. Not myself, but I had it done."

She withdrew from his arms, and he didn't try to hold onto her. He just let her go, feeling the emptiness in his heart as well as his arms. "I'm so sorry, Buffy," he murmured softly. "You must be terribly disappointed in me. I know that when you stopped me in India, that you didn't want to think me capable of murder. But it would appear that, in the end, I'm not the man you thought I was."

She flicked on the nightstand lamp, and he squinted in the harsh light, trying to make out her expression. She was sitting straight up in bed, glaring at him.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Giles?"

"Of course not!" he sputtered. "Whyever would you ask such a question?"

"You must either think that I'm stupid or that I never pick up a paper." She pondered what she had just said for a second before she tacked on, "Okay, I guess I'm not usually Current Events Gal, but still… All those times I was up in the middle of the night with a crying baby, because his father was claiming the broken leg excuse-"

"Hey!" Giles protested. "I got up every night with him while he was teething."

She shrugged. "Fine. We're even. My point is this: there's nothing on at three in the morning except CNN, Xena reruns, and Gilligan's Island. I must admit that Gilligan's Island won out on some nights, but there were lots of other nights that I would sit on the couch downstairs, watching the news while I was nursing Alex or trying to get him to go back to sleep. When they pulled Longsworth and Sulla's bodies from the water… Well, they might have written it off as two more casualties of the plane crash, but I knew I'd seen them both alive since then."

She crossed her arms defiantly. "You think I didn't figure it out, Giles? You think I wasn't looking over the phone bill the next month and connecting the dots: when they'd died, when you'd called? You must think I'm a pretty lousy detective, huh? You called the Council's black ops, didn't you? The ones that tried to kill me when I was in Faith's body?"

Giles sat up in bed now too, giving her a matching glare. "You _knew_? All these years, I've been terrified that you'd find out, terrified that you'd never forgive me, and you already _knew_?"

She poked him in the chest with her finger. "Let's not forget which one of us had the big earth shattering secret he wasn't telling the other one of us. My knowing about it doesn't even rate on the scale of secrets, and it sure doesn't change the fact that you should have told me way before this. Jeeze, Giles, it's been four years. I was beginning to think you'd never 'fess up."

He shook his head in disbelief. "All this time… you knew, and you didn't hate me for it?"

She crawled out of bed, slipped on her robe, and began pacing. "Maybe I did a little, at first. When I saw it on the news, when I first figured out what you had done, I didn't come to bed that night. I just sat on the couch and cried, like all night long. The next day, I told you I had been downstairs with Alex the whole time, which technically I had, and then I went to spend the day with Willow. If I hadn't already figured it out myself, she would have filled me in. She showed me an article she'd clipped out about Longsworth."

"Willow knows?"

"And Xander, which I guess means Anya, too. Although none of them know about Ben. Anyway," she continued, as if the details of who knew about his crimes were inconsequential, "I talked with Willow, and… well, I couldn't hate you, Giles. I was holding our _son_ in my arms, and looking at him, I understood why you did it. Hell, I broke the old guy's leg while we were in India, and it took a whole lotta restraint to shoot him with the tranq instead of the 9 mm. I wanted him dead, after what he put us through, after he cost us our daughter. So I understand. And maybe the smallest part of me is ashamed to admit that I'm glad you did it, that they're dead and I never have to worry about either of them showing up here again."

She faced him, her eyes still filled with the anger and hurt he had been afraid he would see in them. "I forgave you a long time ago for sending the black ops after Longsworth and Sulla. But I am still angry with you for never telling me, for keeping such a huge secret from me. And I asked Willow and Xander not to say anything. I wanted to give you the chance to come clean yourself." She crossed her arms. "Sure took you long enough. Why tonight?"

He dropped his eyes to his lap, unable to meet her piercing stare. "Remember when Travers was trying to blackmail us into raising Robin as a slayer?"

"He had proof that you'd killed Ben."

"Not just Ben. Longsworth and Sulla too."

"Oh," she answered softly. "You kinda left that part out."

"Yes," he answered bitterly, resting his head back against the headboard and closing his eyes. This conversation was not going as he had expected. "I must admit that the greater part of Travers' threat was that he would tell you what I had done. If I had known that you already knew… well that might have changed things slightly."

"Well, sor-rry," she retorted caustically, "maybe if you had actually _told_ me, you wouldn't have had to worry about it."

He opened his eyes, and they stared at each other for several tense and silent moments. Buffy finally sighed and climbed onto the bed beside him, resting back against the headboard in a matching pose to his. "So… that was still a long time ago, and Travers is dead now…" she prompted him for more.

"He had audiotapes, the actual conversation I had with the black ops. Someone must have recovered them from the Council ruins. And now those tapes have found their way into the hands of Wolfram and Hart."

"The evil law firm Angel talks about?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Her voice became softer, lost the hard edge of anger. "This is bad."

"Very bad," he agreed. "A lawyer came by today with an ultimatum: I have five days to recover a stolen artifact for them or else they'll turn the tapes into the district attorney and bring me up on murder charges."

He felt her fingers grasp his. "What are we going to do?" she asked him as she leaned her head against his shoulder. It didn't escape his notice that she had said "we" and not "you."

"I'm afraid there isn't much we can do. The artifact they're after would be too dangerous in their hands. I daren't chance it. Besides, I do this one thing for them, and they'll find something else to demand of me. I give into them now, and they'll hold those tapes over our heads for the rest of our lives."

She squeezed his hand softly. "Too bad they don't just want hush money. We have plenty of that."

He chuckled wryly. "Is this my police detective wife talking?"

"Sometimes you have to break a few little laws in the interest of world save-age. Just little things like breaking and entering, stealing things outta public museums, blowing up high schools… Shall I continue?"

"This is very much different than that, Buffy. I didn't do this to track down an Incan mummy or stop an ascendant demon. This was murder, plain and simple as that."

"No." She turned, hiking one leg over his until she was sitting straddled across his lap, the ends of her robe pooled around their legs. She looped her arms around his neck, leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. "You're not a murderer, Giles. You're a father who was protecting his children."

"Let's hope a jury sees it that way," he muttered.

"You're not giving up that easily," Buffy insisted fiercely. "We'll find another solution, something besides the two options Wolfram and Hart gave us. You're not going to jail, Giles."

He gave her a level stare. "Maybe I should."

She tilted her chin up and kissed him on his forehead. "No, Giles. You're worth ten of them. Look, I said I forgave you a long time ago. So forgive yourself already. Randall was an accident. Ben was war. And Longsworth and Sulla were two bastards who kidnapped our children and would have probably tried it again. The fact that you feel so guilty about their deaths only proves that you're not a murderer. Just a man who made some understandable mistakes under some difficult conditions."

Giles shook his head. She had it all wrong. She had known his sins, and yet she knew nothing. And this was the confession he had dreaded, the part of himself he was afraid for her to see, the truth that could drive them apart. He lifted one hand to tenderly brush a lock of hair from her forehead. "Oh, my dear, sweet Buffy, that's exactly my point. I don't regret what I did, would do it again if given the chance. I only regret getting caught. And isn't that the classic line of the guilty?"

She leaned forward and kissed him once more, this time on his lips, slow and sweet and banishing all his fears with this demonstration of her unconditional love. She knew now his darkest secrets, but that knowledge earned him no condemnation from her, only this tender devotion. She pulled away from him then, and stared into his eyes for several long, quiet seconds. When she finally spoke, it was with a normalcy that belied their entire previous conversation: "We should go back to sleep. We'll be up bright and early tomorrow: stereo alarm clocks."

Giles smiled at the thought of the twins' waking them, as they did every morning. "Have I mentioned lately that I miss having Dawn in the house?"

She smiled in return. "You're only sorry she went off to college just when you found yourself free to sleep in in the mornings. I know it's not exactly free babysitting, but Marianne could stay over sometimes to keep them occupied in the morning. Or everyday if you wanted. We pay her enough."

"No… I-I know I tease, but I actually think I would miss it."

"Me, too." Her smile faded, and she touched him on the side of his face. "We'll figure this all out tomorrow. Big Scooby meeting, and we'll figure it all out."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "I don't deserve you."

"You're stuck with me all the same," she answered, shedding her robe and crawling back under the covers beside him. "For better or worse. I think that was actually in the vows there somewhere."

He spooned up behind his wife and slayer and allowed the conversation to end for now. Tomorrow they would make the hard choices, but for tonight he would sleep soundly, knowing that Buffy still loved him despite the wrongs he had done, and knowing that whatever he had to face tomorrow, he would not face it alone.

* * *

"The tapes are all they got, right?" They were all seated around the Magic Box table, just like old times. The store hadn't opened yet, and Anya was feeding the baby her breakfast. Willow was seated beside Buffy, and Xander paced back and forth behind them. He was the one who had asked the question.

"The tapes are the only proof in existence, I believe," Giles answered, still astounded at how easily the others had accepted and forgiven that he had ordered two men's deaths. Xander had thumped him on the shoulder and motioned to Anya and their daughter, saying he would have done the same. Willow had only dropped her eyes and in a low voice said that she had done far worse.

Anya had seemed to understand his motivation far better than any of the others, who all wanted to believe he'd done it to protect Buffy and the twins. Anya, former vengeance demon, had patted him on the arm in that awkward and forced way of hers, not forced because she didn't mean it, but forced because human gestures were still not second nature to her, and assured him very quietly that she, more than anyone else, understood the temptation of vengeance.

"The ops who did the job died with the rest of the watchers," Giles continued, "and… and they were professionals. There wouldn't have been any evidence."

"So we steal the tapes," Xander suggested, holding his hands out to solicit opinions from the rest of the group.

"They probably have copies in different places," Willow sighed. "We'd never know if we got them all. And even if we did, they'd just say we didn't. We wouldn't know unless we called their bluff."

"So stealing the tapes is out," Xander summarized. "We can't give them what they want, so giving in to their blackmail is out. Hey, what about blackmailing them ourselves?"

"With what?" Willow asked.

"I don't know, Hacker Girl." He waved at the laptop sitting untouched on the table in front of her. "Couldn't you dig up some dirt on these guys? An evil law firm's gotta have some serious skeletons in the closet."

"Not to mention a kick-ass security system at the door," Willow lamented. "I've tried before. Remember when Angel wanted me to find out where they were hiding that demon larvae Spike had warned him about?"

The group deflated.

Buffy perked up suddenly and suggested brightly: "We may not be able to dig up the secrets they already have, but we could make something up to blackmail them with."

"Make something up?" Giles frowned. "I don't think they'd find that very threatening. Especially as it wouldn't be true."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I meant we set them up, Candid Camera style, and _then_ blackmail them with _that_."

"Who'd do it?" Xander asked. "They know all of us. Probably even Spike. They'd be too suspicious to fall for anything we set up for them."

Anya had been quiet thus far, intent on feeding Zoey. The baby was happily oblivious to the serious conversation occurring around her, eagerly focused on each mouthful her mother offered her and crankily demanding the next by banging her fists on the highchair tray. Anya carefully spooned a mouthful of pureed peaches into Zoey's mouth. The girl looked at Giles. He winked at her. She stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry at him, spilling glops of orange peach goo all down the front of her. Anya glared at him. Giles smiled back innocently. It had taken him half a day to teach the child to do that. After all, he had three years of paybacks to catch up on.

Anya continued scowling at him as she cleaned off the baby's face. "I vote for letting Uncle Giles go to jail."

"Anya!" Buffy, Willow, and Xander shouted in unison.

Giles only arched one brow and replied coolly, "The quality of your mercy humbles me, Anya." Although he would never admit it to anyone, he missed the daily verbal sparring that had comprised their previous employer/employee relationship.

Anya glanced at the others quickly before resuming Zoey's feeding. "I'm actually not joking about Giles going to jail. It would be the most practical and logical thing. Giles turns himself in, which would hopefully work in his favor, and then uses his massive fortune to hire expert legal counsel, much as OJ Simpson did, except that he also sold his soul to a minor imbalance demon. Giles wouldn't have to do that, though. He has a lot more money and a much more sympathetic defense." She pointed at him with the spoon. "Maybe you could even buy off the jury."

Giles frowned at her suggestion. "I'm not sure which is greater: your faith in capitalism or your cynicism for the criminal justice system. But, as much as it might shake the foundations of your belief system to hear this, I must tell you, Anya, that money can't buy everything. This, I'm afraid, would be one such instance."

She sighed. "For most people that might be true. But with the kinds of black markets we have access to… well, that trite cliché just doesn't hold water. You can buy anything you like with enough money. The only question is if you're willing to pay the secondary costs associated with your purchase."

"Let's just take it as a given," Buffy insisted, "that we can't buy the jury. What are our other options?"

Giles leaned forward, his voice becoming graver. He knew Buffy wouldn't want to hear this. "Aside from jury tampering, Anya may have the rest of it right. It would appear that our best option is for me to turn myself in and hope that a trial would end in my favor."

"No way," Buffy said firmly. "The courtroom is like Wolfram and Hart's home turf. We wouldn't stand a chance against them in there. We have to find another way."

"We seem to be running short of ideas."

Her face hardened into an expression he recognized from many lost arguments. He wouldn't be able to change her mind about this. "We have five days to figure out a better idea," she reminded him.

"Fine, but if we fail to arrive at a solution by then… I'm not waiting for Wolfram and Hart to do the honors. I'll turn myself in."

* * *

Willow went back to the sorority house, but she shut her door on the other girls and pretended to be grading papers. She didn't want to be bothered. There was very little time, and far too much work to be done.

Five days.

She had five days to fix things for Giles. Hopefully, in doing so, she could set things right between them.

She booted up her laptop. Magic would have been easier, but Giles hadn't lifted his spell yet, and so she would have to do things the old-fashioned way. She hated to admit that she was actually beginning to miss the magic. With it, she might have been able to hack past Wolfram and Hart's firewall, but she wasn't about to mention that fact to Giles. She played the dutiful Scooby and researched whatever she was given without complaint, but her extracurricular reading had expanded back into the magic she had previously abandoned. Sometimes she left the magic books she was reading lying around where he would notice them, hoping he would catch the hint that she was ready and responsible and had learned her lesson. If he got the message, he never said anything. And Willow didn't have the nerve to do anything more than hint. She would never actually ask Giles to give her back her magic, even if it meant being plain, powerless Willow for the rest of her life.

She started scouring the chat rooms that some of the seedier elements of the magical community frequented. Her mind kept replaying Buffy's suggestion: set them up and blackmail them back. Xander was right, though: none of them would be able to do it. So Willow had to find someone who could.

Next: Part 4: Deal with the Devil


	4. Deal With The Devil

ORIGINALLY POSTED: October 19, 2002  
TITLE: The Fine Art of Blackmail  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Family Business, Giles and Buffy have their daughter back and are running the Council, but will Wolfram and Hart use Giles' past sins to destroy the life they've built?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 4: Deal with the Devil

Willow shouldered her way through the smoky bar. A live jazz band was playing on the small stage, and the place was packed. The bartender had pointed her towards a corner booth, but getting there was another matter entirely. She'd been leered at, propositioned, knocked into, both on purpose and by accident, and had half a glass of beer spilled on her. The whole place reeked of cigarette smoke and a thicker undercurrent of something less legal. Seedy deals were being hashed in dark corners, but she didn't want to think about any of that. There was only one person in the whole place she was at all interested in and one deal she cared anything about: the deal she intended to make with him.

She reached his booth, but he had his back to her and didn't see her approach. The woman seated across from him did, but didn't seem to feel it worth mentioning. They were holding hands across the table, leaning towards each other to be heard over the band, and the woman was smiling coyly at whatever he had just said to her.

Willow tapped her on the shoulder and ordered firmly, "Get lost."

The man noticed her then, and he didn't look too happy to see her.

"Bloody hell, what are you doing here?"

"You know her?" the woman asked.

It was perhaps the oldest cliché in the book, but it was what came immediately to Willow's mind. "_Know_ me? I'm his girlfriend. Who the hell are you?"

"Not interested," the woman answered, grabbing her purse and sliding out of the booth.

"Wait!" he called out after her, trying to follow, but Willow blocked his path, and the woman disappeared back into the crowd too quickly.

He sighed and sank down in his seat. He motioned to the now vacant space opposite him. "And how do you know your little game didn't just break up a happy relationship of two years? Maybe I was about to propose to her."

Willow rolled her eyes and sat down. "You just met her in a chat room last night. I was there."

He shrugged in acknowledgement of that fact. "But it might have blossomed into something more if you hadn't so rudely interrupted." Ethan Rayne slugged back the last of his drink, and then waved to a passing waiter for a refill. "Ripper send you?"

"Giles doesn't know I'm here."

He smirked. "I can't imagine that he'd approve."

She sighed sadly. "No, he really, really wouldn't."

Ethan motioned between her and the waiter, and Willow soon found a full glass of something sitting in front of her. He raised his own. "A toast. To hell with authority and rules and a hard day's work. There's a world of pleasure out there for the tasting, and you, my dear, have just taken the first step."

She pushed the glass towards him and crinkled her nose. "Like I would ever have a drink with _you_. I'm not that dumb. Last time Giles went out drinking with you, you turned him into a demon."

"I turned him back, didn't I?" He downed his own drink in one go and waved to the waiter for another. Willow suspected he was drunk. "Was only trying to get him into the Initiative, so he could see for himself what I was talking about. I thought it was rather clever of me. But Ripper was never one for 'the ends justify the means' though, was he?"

"You helped kidnap their babies. Why would I trust you?"

He pushed the drink back to her side of the table. "Because you need something from me. Need something badly enough to track me down on your computer and traipse to the other side of the continent to find me. Have the drink already. It'll make it easier to ask me."

Against her better judgment, she picked the glass up. He couldn't have slipped anything in it; she'd watched the waiter deliver it to the table. She took a sip and grimaced. It was hard liquor like she'd never had, and it burned the back of her throat. Ethan was laughing at her, however, and so she forced herself to take another larger swallow, just to prove to him that she could.

The booth was one of those "U"-shaped ones with a single curving bench around the table. He quickly slid the length of it until he was sitting on her side of the table, right beside her, without a sliver of personal space between them. "I know why you came," he told her.

"You do?" she squeaked. She was thinking she had better finish off her drink. Liquid courage.

He leaned in close and murmured it in her ear as if it was a secret, his eyes scanning the bar for eavesdroppers. "You want me to free you."

Okay, now he had lost her. "Huh?"

"Your magic is in chains, luv. It's pounding on the walls, shaking the bars of its cage, screaming to be let out. Can't you hear it?"

She stared at him, open-mouthed, her heart pounding furiously. Part of her was saying, _Yes, yes, I feel it everyday. Please, I just want to be free_. She shook her head, as if to deny her own thoughts. "H-how… how did you know?"

"You fairly reek of Ripper's magic. Your chains are fashioned from it. He would have done the same to me after Randall, 'cept he swore off the magic." Ethan indicated to the waiter that she needed another drink. Willow didn't remember finishing the first one. "I can break his spell. For the right price, of course."

She straightened her shoulders and elbowed him out of her personal space. "That's not why I came," she told him firmly.

He arched one eyebrow. "No?"

"No. Giles will break the spell himself when he thinks I deserve it."

Ethan snorted in derision. "So he fancies himself the Magic Police now, does he? You really think he's ever going to lift that spell off you? I'm sure he believes he's only protecting you from yourself. He's a noble bastard that way." He slid back around to his side of the booth and leaned back casually, with his arms resting on the back of the booth. "No, I'm your only chance, Red. Won't cost you much." He paused dramatically. "Just your soul."

Her eyes widened, and he burst into loud gales of laughter. After a moment, he regained control of himself, wiping tears from his eyes while still chuckling silently. He shook his head. "Just kidding," he assured her. "I've always wanted to say that. Christ, you should have seen the look on your face. Bloody priceless."

She glared at him, beginning to regret her decision to ever seek him out. Somehow the plan had seemed so perfect in her head. She hadn't factored in the actually having to deal with Ethan part of it, though. "I told you. I didn't come here to get my magic back."

"Pity. I remember you had the makings of a pretty impressive witch. I sensed it briefly that Halloween. Actually, I had the perfect costume in mind for you, but you had your heart set on hiding yourself under that ghost's sheet." He was beginning to look bored with the turn in their conversation, his eyes wandering over the crowd and seeking out a more entertaining diversion. "So, what do you want then?"

"Giles is in trouble."

She had his attention again. He leaned forward eagerly. "Really? Oh, this I have to hear. Do tell."

Willow chewed on her bottom lip as she tried to decide how much to tell him. He needed to understand the plan, but giving him too much information would only add him to the list of people who could blackmail Giles. That would definitely not be good. Because while Willow would need Ethan if her plan were to succeed, she knew she couldn't trust him. "There's this law firm, Wolfram and Hart, and they're causing problems."

He nodded. "I've heard of them. Met a few people who've done freelance work for them. What's their truck with dear old Ripper?"

"Giles is head of the Council now, and he's worth billions." She hoped he'd buy that as the extent of Giles' trouble. She wasn't about to tell him the rest of the story.

"So they're gouging him?"

"Yeah."

"What they got on him?"

Willow dropped her eyes to her lap and started nervously twisting her fingers. She was such a terrible liar. "What makes you think they got something on him?" She was cursing herself. Her voice had surely just given everything away.

"Well, if he's paying them hush money, they have to have something." A long pause. Willow couldn't bring herself to look up. He would see everything in her eyes. Ethan continued, "Is it about Randall? About the things he did in his Ripper days?"

She nodded enthusiastically, relieved that he had just given her a way to avoid revealing the truth. "I have a plan to get them off his back, but none of us can do it. They know all of us. We need someone they wouldn't recognize."

"So you naturally thought of me? I'm flattered. But what makes you think I care if Ripper's in trouble? What makes you think I'll fall in line with your little crew of do-gooders?"

"Because Giles was your friend."

He saluted her with his glass before finishing it off and slamming it down on the table. "You got the past tense in that statement right." He stood, dropped money on the table, and started walking away from her, pushing his way through the crowd towards the exit.

She bolted to her feet, her eyes wide with alarm, and chased him. She was surprised to find that her legs were a little wobbly and her head a little swimmy from just that one drink. God, she was a lightweight. "Wait!"

He didn't slow down, and she tried to keep him in her sight as she struggled to forge a path through the crowd. If he got away from her, she didn't know what she'd do. She wouldn't be able to find him again before Giles' five days were up, not if Ethan knew she was looking for him, not if he decided to disappear. And without Ethan, Willow didn't have a clue how to help Giles.

"Oh God," she moaned at the very thought of losing. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Like the Red Sea before Moses, the crowd parted for those magic words. Someone just in front of her loudly warned the others, "Make way! She's gonna ralph!"

Willow hurried to the exit and caught up with Ethan just outside. "He misses you."

"Does he?" Ethan didn't break stride, turning onto Decatur Street and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He offered her one absently, and she made a disgusted face before shaking her head. He shrugged and lit up.

"He said you were one of the biggest mistakes of his life," she told him.

Ethan laughed and blew out a smoke ring. Willow had to admit to being a little impressed. Even Spike couldn't do that. "I suppose he believes his life would have never strayed from his perfectly chosen path if it weren't for me. Truth is no one was twisting his arm to play hoodlum."

"That's not what I meant. After Randall, after all of it. He said one of his biggest mistakes was letting your friendship go. He told me he always regretted that and wished he could change things between you." She couldn't read his expression. He looked thoughtful, serious, more than she'd ever imagined Ethan Rayne could look. For several moments, he seemed to contemplate her words in silence.

Suddenly he stopped, pulled his fist back, spun, and punched the man walking directly behind them. The man hit the ground, unconscious, his long trench coat spread out on the ground to either side of him. Ethan immediately started shaking his hand out, as if the punch had hurt him more than the man he'd knocked out cold.

"What was that for?" Willow gasped.

Ethan bent over and retrieved something from the man's pockets. People were rubbernecking the scene on all sides, but no one stopped or tried to get involved. Ethan handed her a small, flowery drawstring purse. "This yours?"

Willow patted her coat pocket, surprised to find her little money purse was indeed missing. "Yeah."

"Pickpockets," he informed her flatly. "As much as New Orleans would like to claim itself the vampire headquarters of the world, you're more likely to lose your money here than your life." He slung one arm around her shoulders and started them walking again, urging her into a quicker pace. His eyes were vigilant for the night life around them. "I should walk you back to your hotel at least."

"See?" she said brightly. "You can be a good guy sometimes."

"How do you know I'm not walking you back to your hotel so I can take advantage of you in private?"

She frowned. "Ok, I don't, but… but you know what I think, Ethan?"

"No, but I'm fairly certain you're about to tell me anyway."

"I think you just like people to think you're a bad guy. I think underneath, you're kinda good."

"I'm neither. I'm gray. Gray's less comfortable than black or white, because you don't know how to classify it, don't know what to expect. It's unpredictable. I love unpredictable. Without balance, without Chaos, this world would be frightfully dull." He squeezed her shoulder and looked down on her, giving her a wink. "I could teach you if you liked. Let me break Ripper's spell, and we'd have fun, you and I. I could show you whole new facets of your magic; all the things stuffy old Rupert has deemed off-limits."

"No, I've already done the bad girl thing, and believe me when I say that I'm way over it."

"You've done dark. You've done light. But you haven't done gray. Chaos is an entirely different experience, gives you a new perspective on life. You might enjoy it, if you gave it a chance."

"No, thank you."

"Suit yourself." Ethan fell silent as they turned onto St. Anne and strolled towards her hotel. Passersby might have mistaken them for a couple, him with his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, casually smoking a cigarette, and her leaning ever so slightly towards him, comfortably matching his gait. No one would have guessed that they were looking at a powerful sorcerer, servant of Chaos, and an ex-witch who had been the fall of the Watcher's Council.

* * *

Day two of Giles' five day countdown began with another Scooby meeting at the Magic Box. Buffy stayed home from work. Xander and Giles, each being their own bosses, didn't need to make excuses for their absences. Anya complained about her store being commandeered once again for meetings and research, saying that she would be grateful when the Council Headquarters were finished and everyone could meet there instead. Not to mention that she had big plans for Buffy's old training room once she was relocated to her new slayer gym.

Willow was the only one absent. She claimed to be near a breakthrough on getting past Wolfram and Hart's firewall, and so everyone felt it best to leave her to work at home.

Buffy had suggested leaving the twins with Marianne, but Giles felt the need to be near them as much as possible in these last few days. He researched while Robin perched on his lap, intently coloring outside the lines of her coloring book. Alex was on a quest to find his hidden birthday presents, sure that they were somewhere in the store. Zoey was lying on a blanket near the corner, intently trying to make her arms and legs work together in some sort of crawling motion.

A little after noon, a woman in formal business attire strolled through the front door. Anya greeted her as she did every new customer, "Thank you for coming to the Magic Box. Please buy something."

But Buffy noticed how Giles immediately snapped to attention. He rose, holding Robin against one hip, and met the woman halfway. Buffy guessed that she might have something to do with this whole mess. Plus, the expensive suit, the perfect manicure, and the smug, superior smile. Oh, yeah, definite lawyer.

"I'm surprised to see you still here," she said. "I thought you'd take advantage of the time we gave you to hightail it out of town."

Robin stuck her thumb in her mouth and buried her face against her father's shoulder, seeming to sense his discomfort with this stranger.

"You're not getting the Ring of Gorlois," he told her.

"But you know where it is?"

"Not exactly."

Buffy stood as well and placed herself at her husband's side. "You got a lotta guts, lady, to show your face here, where it's likely to get punched by a pissed off slayer."

"Buffy," Giles chided sharply.

The woman pursed her lips as her eyes scanned over Buffy. She faced Giles again and met his eyes. "So, you told her?"

Buffy crossed her arms. "About Longsworth and Sulla?" she answered for Giles. "He didn't have to. I already knew. About your blackmail? Yeah, we all know. And we're currently trying to figure out a way to screw Wolfram and Hart over."

The woman nodded approvingly. "You have spunk, girl. I think I see why Angel had a thing for you." She offered out her hand. "Lilah Morgan. Pleased to meet you, Buffy."

Buffy merely narrowed her eyes and glared.

Lilah shrugged and withdrew her hand. "Let's talk, woman to woman."

"Or woman to scum, as the case may be," Buffy threw in bitterly.

Unfazed, Lilah took a deep breath and plowed ahead, "I'm thinking you might be a little more practical about this. You want to keep your husband out of jail, don't you? Being a single mom's no picnic. But you already knew that, seeing as your mom was pretty much one. All we want is the ring. Call Angel, get it for us, and your man walks."

"Get out," Giles ordered, and Buffy flinched at the anger in his words.

Lilah walked backwards a few steps, holding out three fingers, reminding them all that they had three days left. Robin lifted her head from her father's shoulder and echoed with three fingers of her own, reminding them all that she was three years old.

Alex darted out from behind the register and ran up to the Wolfram and Hart lawyer. He tugged on her skirt to gain her attention, and Buffy winced.

"Fingerpaints!" Alex announced proudly, holding up his multi-colored, dripping hands, which had left rainbow smears down Lilah's skirt. Buffy thought it seemed like such a sad fate for such a nice designer skirt, even if it did happen to be adorning an evil lawyer.

Lilah placed her hand on the top of Alex's head and forced him back a step. "Cute kid," she said with disdain. She turned and walked out of the shop, but a giggling Alex made sure she left with a colorful handprint on her butt.

"Alex!" Buffy scolded after the door had closed, calling him over and hauling him by one elbow over to where she could clean him off with napkins.

"Don't yell at him," Anya begged. "It was my idea. I put the fingerpaint on his hands and told him to go get it on the lady."

Buffy glared at the ex-demon as she cleaned off her son. "I can't wait 'til Zoey's older. We're gonna buy her fingerpaints and sand art and a musical bear that only plays one song… What song was that, Giles?"

"'This Old Man,'" he groaned as he sat back down and resumed his reading. "Yes, Zoey will definitely require one of those, preferably one that needs no batteries and lacks any kind of an off switch."

"Yeah," Buffy seconded. "And… and drums!" She was definitely getting into the spirit of this now, remembering over three years of Uncle Xander and Aunt Anya's thoughtful gifts. "Zoey's getting like a whole drum set as soon as she can hold the sticks."

Anya's forehead crinkled up into a puzzled expression. "But we already got Alex drums for his birthday."

"What!" Buffy cried, jumping to her feet.

"Hey!" Xander cut in, trying to divert attention from this particular topic of conversation. "Aren't we forgetting something? Giles in trouble? Evil lawyer just paid us a visit? Come on, people! Priorities!"

But Anya continued, still seemingly confused by Buffy's irritation. "Xander said drums were the traditional present for a fourth birthday. Was he wrong?"

"Bang! Bang!" Alex shouted gleefully.

"Yes, well he can play with them when he visits you," Giles insisted, putting to rest the argument before it could go any farther. "Xander is right about one thing, however: we should return to work."

They all resumed their research, trying not to let Lilah's visit and her reminder of their rapidly approaching deadline diminish their hopes.

* * *

Willow paced beside the security gate, constantly checking her watch and scanning the line. Airport security had already pulled her aside for a more thorough check, since she did look pretty suspicious and nervous. Ethan had less than ten minutes to get through security before they wouldn't let him board his flight. She hoped he remembered that he needed to arrive plenty early. What if he didn't come? He had claimed he needed to go back to his hotel for his stuff, but what if that was just what he had told her so he could bail out? She couldn't believe she'd let him out of her sight.

Then again, she didn't have much of a choice about that. They wouldn't be able to sit together on the plane, wouldn't be able to be seen together any more than absolutely necessary for fear that Wolfram and Hart would realize that Ethan was acting as a double agent. After being so considerately walked back to her hotel room, Willow had spent the majority of an hour convincing and begging Ethan until he had finally agreed to the plan, persuaded not so much by the idea of helping his old friend as much as by the prospect of playing havoc with a bunch of control-freak lawyers. Willow would just have to be satisfied with that for the time being. It was probably as close as one ever got to trust where Ethan Rayne was concerned.

She sighed in relief when she saw him queue up at the end of the line. He gave her a peppy little wave, and she rolled her eyes before walking off to find her gate.

She didn't see him again on the plane, nor when they disembarked. They took separate taxis when they landed in LA, and they arrived at the same building by different routes. She met him in front of the door to Cordelia's apartment, and he was late, again. She waited at the door, fervently hoping that no one from Angel Investigations would choose that moment to drop by.

"Miss me?" he whispered beside her ear, making her jump, and she let out a little squeal before clamping a hand over her mouth. She hadn't heard him approach from behind. She glared, and he smiled, entirely too pleased by his little games.

"So this is it?" Ethan asked, tracing his eyes over the lines of Cordelia's door.

"Yeah. Wesley said… you know, when I called him, pretending that Giles wanted to know… Anyway, he said Cordelia had the ring."

Ethan jiggled the door handle and scoffed, "I thought you said this would be difficult? I don't sense wards or spells of any kind, and this lock is so pathetic, even _you_ could pick it." He pulled something from his pocket and squatted down in front of the handle, sticking a thin piece of metal in the keyhole and fiddling with it for a moment before standing and repeating the procedure on the deadbolt. He turned the handle and opened the door wide. "I hope the ring is in a safe or something. Give me _some_ sort of challenge, at least."

The door slammed back in his face. He heard the lock click and the deadbolt slide home.

His expression radiated complete bewilderment. "Bloody hell! I thought you said no one was home?"

Willow feigned ignorance. "They're not. I doublechecked. Hmm… This is weird." She wasn't sure what possessed her to withhold this bit of information, except that she liked seeing Ethan rattled. He had sure enjoyed rattling her. She suspected that he had decided to help her from the moment he had started walking her back to her hotel last night, but had made her go through with the arguing and begging just for the hell of it. Well, if Ethan wanted to play, she could needle him right back. Turnabout and all that.

"Hello?" he called out tentatively before again disengaging the locks. He threw open the door and waited a moment. "Hello?" he called again, sticking his head in to verify that the apartment was indeed vacant.

He pulled his head out just in time, a mere fraction of a second before the slamming door would have knocked him unconscious. Click. Thud. Both locks firmly engaged.

"Well, quite the conundrum, I suppose." He looked at her sideways. "You, however, are transparent as glass. You don't find this the least bit odd."

She shrugged, letting him off the hook. "Cordelia has a ghost living… or ummm… not living, I guess…just staying, a ghost staying in her apartment."

He nodded, uttering the first few words of an incantation she recognized. She jumped forward and covered his mouth with her hand, preventing him from finishing. "No! Don't hurt him. He's a good ghost. Just unlock the door again, and I'll get us inside."

She fished something out of her purse as he unlocked the door for the third time. The door swung open, and she held a picture just inside the threshold. "Friends of Cordelia and Wesley. Giles sent us." Half a lie, but what was Dennis going to do? Call Giles and doublecheck? It was a picture from high school, when Cordelia had been dating Xander and the whole group had been sitting on blankets in a park. The picture was old, but Willow didn't think she and Cordelia had changed _that_ much, as to be unrecognizable to her ghostly roommate.

She held up a second picture, just in case: Wesley had visited more than a month ago, to work with Giles on Council-related things, and had the misfortune of sleeping through the twins coming down for breakfast. Each child had later blamed the other, but the fact remained that _someone_ had drawn on Wesley's face with permanent marker. And Buffy had insisted on pictures before anyone let Wesley know what had been done to him. The picture was of a smiling Buffy and Willow on either side of a rather silly looking and completely clueless Wesley. Giles had snapped the picture.

The photos were enough to buy them entrance.

"Thanks, Phantom Dennis," Willow said, as the door gently closed behind them.

"Yes, thank you for not slamming the door in my face this time," Ethan tacked on bitterly.

Willow scowled and shook her finger in his direction. "Be nice!"

They split up and started searching the apartment for the ring. Willow found a lot more of Wesley's things than she had expected. She knew the two were dating, but it seemed like he had practically moved in. Cordelia had even given him an entire drawer of her dresser and half her closet. Things must really be serious between the two of them for Queen C, Cordelia Chase, to voluntarily part with half her closet space. Willow smiled at the memory of their visit to Caritas after returning from India, and how the sight of Wesley holding a newborn Alex might have been the very thing that had rekindled Cordelia's crush and resulted in a shared laundry hamper and matching bathrobes nearly four years later.

She turned just in time to catch Ethan rummaging through Cordelia's bras and underwear. "Hey!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes at her indignation. "Isn't this where most women keep their valuables? Beneath their knickers? Fitting, I suppose."

Willow flopped down on Cordelia's bed, feeling defeated. "It's no use. I thought you'd be able to find it, like sensing magic or something. I guess Wesley's right: it's hidden somewhere no one can find it. He said a thief would need supernatural help to get their hands on it."

"He said what?"

Willow continued on as if he hadn't spoken. "Guess your magic isn't going to be good enough to get it. We need-"

"To ask for a little supernatural help," Ethan finished. He looked up at the ceiling and then each wall. "Dennis, we're looking for a little bauble, a ring about so big…" He held his fingers slightly apart. "Haven't happened to see it, have you?"

They heard a loud thump, like someone pounding on the wall once.

Willow perked up, jumping off the bed. She exchanged a hopeful look with her accomplice. "Could you give it to us?"

Two thumps.

Ethan nodded, understanding. "She asked you to guard it for them, didn't she? Make sure no one who happened to sneak into the apartment could nab it?"

One loud thump answered him.

"But we're good thieves," Willow protested. "We're only trying to keep the ring from Wolfram and Hart, only we can't tell Wesley or Cordelia or anyone here, 'cause then the lawyers might know what we're planning. You understand, right?"

Thump.

Willow smiled. "So you'll give us the ring?"

Thump. Thump.

She pouted and crossed her arms. "I thought you were a good ghost," she muttered.

"I could make you solid," Ethan announced. "For a short time, anyway. A day or two maybe. That must be worth something."

Silence.

"All this time, living with Cordelia… You'd be able to talk with her, touch her, go out, see the world… And really, in the larger scheme of things, you're still helping to protect the ring by giving it to us. So you're not technically breaking your promise to keep it safe." He waited, his eyes scanning over the apartment, as if searching for Dennis' technical location. "What do you say? We have a deal?"

A long pause, followed by one loud thump.

Willow jumped up, her hands raised in victory.

Dennis floated the ring to them from wherever he had it hidden and placed it in Willow's waiting hand. The ring was thick, heavy, gold, tarnished and bearing an insignia she didn't recognize. Both the insignia and the etchings along the band had accumulated years of dirt in their grooves. That such an unimpressive piece of jewelry should have inspired such battles over its possession… she thought it needed a good polish.

Ethan performed the spell as promised. Willow averted her eyes as soon as she realized becoming solid didn't automatically include clothing. Dennis seemed too preoccupied with his new visible status to notice.

"Thank you," he said to Ethan, still staring at solid hands, wiggling solid fingers in front of his face. He touched his throat as soon as he'd spoken, awed by his own voice.

"It'll wear off eventually, and you'll find yourself back here. Until then… enjoy yourself."

Dennis nodded, and Willow overcame her embarrassment enough to step forward and give this ghost a tentative hug and kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for helping. And you might want to borrow some of Wesley's clothes," she whispered in his ear as she pulled away.

Dennis looked down, noticing his nakedness for the first time. "Oh!" He darted into Cordelia's room, and the two thieves took that as their cue to leave.

"Won't Cordelia figure out what we did," Willow asked as they walked down the apartment hallway, "when she comes home and finds her roommate not so ghostly?"

"You really think Dennis will wait around for her to get home? Or you think he might take a walk around the block, go shopping, get a milkshake? We'll have time to make a clean getaway yet."

"I guess you're right."

Ethan stumbled just as they reached the stairway, and Willow caught him quickly, holding him steady. He breathed heavily for a moment, leaning against her. "That spell took a little more out of me than I expected," he admitted sheepishly.

She helped him down the stairs, allowing him to lean against her for balance. They reached the bottom, and she eyed him skeptically. "You gonna be okay?"

"Sure. Little nap, and I'll be good as new. So the plan for tomorrow… I'm to keep Ms. Morgan occupied and without alibi while you wreak havoc wearing her face?" He scowled. "You get the fun part."

"Well, _I_ can't keep her occupied. She'd be all suspicious. She knows me. You can string her along and promise her whatever evil things she wants. I have absolute faith in your ability to lie and string people along, Ethan."

"You wound me."

They parted as they stepped outside, walking in opposite directions. Willow was inside the taxi before she put her hand in her pocket to feel for the ring.

It was gone.

She swiveled quickly to look out the back window for Ethan, but he, too, was gone. She groaned and laid her head back against the seat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Trusting Ethan, letting him know about the ring, taking him with her to get the ring, and most of all: falling for his stumbling, "I'm so weak and wobbly, let me lean on you just a little" routine. He'd picked her pocket.

She was back to square one. Well, more like square negative five. Because not only did she have no idea how to free Giles from Wolfram and Hart's blackmail without the ring, but she now only had three more days left in which to do it, and not only that, but she'd just lost the very thing Giles had been willing to sacrifice his freedom to protect.

Ethan Rayne had the Ring of Gorlois.

* * *

Giles suggested researching in the park. Tensions were high with everyone working side by side in the Magic Box and no one seeming to make any progress. Buffy was riding everyone hard, pushing for a breakthrough, and Xander and Anya's tempers were beginning to fray under her constant nagging.

So he took his family to the park and left Anya and Xander to do whatever research they liked at the shop. Buffy's mood only darkened, as she sat on a blanket, a book open across her lap, and watched Giles push his son and daughter on the swing set, each child wanting him to push them higher than their twin on the neighboring swing.

The children eventually tired of the swing set, and jumped off mid-swing, racing over to beg their mother to join them on the merry-go-round. Giles followed a moment later, smiling down on her. "Come on, Buffy. Take a break. It's a beautiful day today."

"In a minute."

The children had already raced over to the merry-go-round, taking turns pushing each other until one of their parents could come and make it spin _really_ fast.

Buffy glared at him, his good mood only increasing her anger. "Do you even care?"

He sat beside her. "Of course I care."

"You don't seem to be trying very hard to fix it."

He gently closed the book that lay across her lap. "We won't find the answer in a book or through hours of research. This isn't a demon to kill or a prophecy to stop. We're fighting the truth, Buffy. I did the things they're accusing me of, and they have the proof of it. Spending the next three days buried in books and snapping at Anya and Xander for things they have no control over… Well, it will simply be a waste of those three days." He stood and offered out his hand. "Come on, take a break, use that slayer strength to spin us on the merry-go-round until we're dizzy."

"_You're_ going to ride the merry-go-round with them?"

"Sure, why not."

She reluctantly followed him across the playground to join their children. She tried to smile and laugh with them as the twins begged her to make it go faster, but all she could think about were the stack of books waiting for her on her blanket, the plan that hadn't yet formed, and how Giles seemed to be okay with just giving up.

* * *

Ethan stood in front of the hotel mirror, holding the ring in one hand as he studied his reflection. He knew about the Ring of Gorlois. He'd done a little reading on the subject after Willow had told him that's what they were after. He would have helped her with her plan. He truly would have. Except he didn't like the role she had assigned him. He wanted to be the one who played with the toys.

He thought about Willow, about the awesome power he felt humming just below the surface of Ripper's spell, about how he yearned to mold that power, to introduce her to the mysteries of Chaos, to create and to teach. Ripper seemed to fancy the roles of teacher, mentor, father figure, and Ethan had to admit to feeling his age. He wanted to leave a legacy, a mark, something that would outlive him and prove that he had existed, that he had made an impression on this world. Ethan wanted a student, a protégé, someone to come after.

He wanted Willow.

He was still thinking of her when he slipped the ring on his finger, and he watched his reflection change into hers. He touched his face, and then the short, bobbed, red locks. They felt real. His eyes were green, and the smile was hers.

"Well, well, the real thing." The voice was hers too, but different, sounding as it must in her own head. He laughed, a girlish giggle which only made him laugh harder.

He took the ring off, and the illusion was gone. He thought about his old friend, wondering if Ripper would thank him for saving his neck, or if he wouldn't hate him for doing this favor, for reminding him that they had been friends once and placing him in the position of owing Ethan anything.

Probably the latter. Ripper's precious sense of honor demanded that favors be repaid. And Ethan smiled at the knowledge that Ripper would owe him big time for this. Maybe enough to lift the spell from Willow. Maybe even enough to turn his head should Ethan decide to visit her on occasion.

Ethan slipped the ring back on his finger and smiled as his features transformed into that of his old friend. It was Ripper's dangerous grin that reflected back to him from the glass. Ah, what glorious mischief could he stir wearing Giles' face? Would Buffy know, he wondered? Would she kiss him? Would she take him into her bed, thinking he was her watcher? And what would Ripper do, besides kill him of course, after learning that Ethan had known her touch, her taste, her passion?

He laughed. Games enough for another time, for when he had tired of this town and had gone as far as he could with Willow, when he was ready to leave and never come back. That would be a game he could never recover from. But first things first. First, he had to save Giles and keep him in the game long enough for Ethan to have his fun later.

He pulled out the directions Willow had given him: a little hand drawn map to Wolfram and Hart's offices and a small snapshot of Lilah Morgan.

* * *

Buffy abandoned her research at the dining table and joined Giles and the twins on the back porch. Alex and Robin were running through the backyard with bubble wands of various sizes and shapes, trailing a sea of bubbles in their wake and then chasing each soapy sphere and popping them before they could touch the ground. Buffy sat down next to her watcher and passed him a cup of tea.

"If I remember right," she commented casually, "those were supposed to be birthday presents."

Giles ducked his head, looking guilty. "I know. They were just little ones, and Alex was rather persistent in begging to open a gift early."

"Hmm… Ice cream on the way back from the park. Now early birthday presents. You're spoiling them rotten, you know."

"I know that," he agreed quietly.

"That's usually my job. You're usually Mr. Time Out, No Snacks Before Dinner, Brush Your Teeth and Straight to Bed Guy."

The twins raced back over to the porch to refill their wands. Giles held out the bottle of bubble formula for them each to dip their various wands in, and they dripped some of the slimy liquid down his arm in their enthusiasm.

"Look!" Robin demanded, climbing in her mother's lap. "Mine biggest!"

Alex disagreed, and the children had a brief contest to see who could blow the biggest bubbles.

Robin's kept popping before they could float from her wand, and she began to grow frustrated. "You blow, Muffy," she said, holding out the wand for Buffy to try.

Buffy blew slowly and continuously until the bubble was as big as Robin's head. Alex seemed impressed, but quickly changed the game to who could blow the most bubbles. The children refilled their wands and sloshed more bubble mix down Giles' arms before scampering off to fill the air with as many bubbles as they could.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried off his arms.

Buffy watched him for a moment before finally voicing the thing that had been on her mind all day. "You know, this isn't the last week you'll spend with them," she echoed back the words he had said to her earlier, when she'd been planning their birthday party.

"You don't know that," he replied solemnly, echoing her response from then back to her.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and wrapped one arm around his waist. "I hate that you've already given up. Fight for us, Giles. Fight to stay with us."

"What do you want me to do, Buffy?" His voice was quiet, resigned. "I can't give in to their demands. I can't change what I did. I can't stoop to their level just to secure my freedom."

"Why not? Stoop, Giles. Please? For me?" She turned pleading eyes up to meet his, and he smiled as he brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek.

"Would you really want that? Would you want me to use my magic, money, influence, to change things to my liking? When there's a chance innocent people could be caught in the middle, could be hurt just to save me from my own mistakes? I wouldn't be any better than the people we're fighting. I wouldn't be a fit father for Alex or Robin. I wouldn't be worthy of calling myself your husband. I'd rather own up to what I did and go to jail for it than sell my honor to buy even one more day with you."

She closed her eyes and rested her head back against his shoulder. "But if we find a non-evil way to beat Wolfram and Hart, one where no one gets hurt, you'd do it, right?"

"Yes."

"Then let's just pretend that's what'll happen. Maybe Willow will find something we can use against the lawyers or something… Let's just pretend that we have forever, okay?"

"Okay." He draped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her in closer to his side.

"So no more spoiling. No more early birthday presents. You have to be the stompy foot, Giles, 'cause I suck at it. And when I say I want to take them to Disneyworld for their birthdays, you have to rein me in and tell me I'm going overboard."

"About that…"

She groaned. "No. See, you're supposed to be the level head with all this birthday madness."

"I was just going to suggest that perhaps we could celebrate early, tomorrow or the next day. Nothing extravagant. Just cake, balloons, presents."

She shrugged off his touch and stood. "See!" She turned to face him, hands on her hips. "You've already stopped pretending."

"I'm sorry." He dropped his head. "I just want to be there. Let's have the party early. Please, Buffy."

She stepped forward, bent slightly, and took his face in both her hands, tilting his chin up to meet her gaze. "You _will_ be there. It's not going to happen, but even if it did… You'll always be in their lives," she promised him. "Birthdays, Christmas, all of it. You're their father, and we'd come to visit all the time."

"Thank you." She heard the rough emotion in his voice, saw the sheen of tears he refused to let fall. "I needed to hear that."

"It's not going to happen, though," she insisted stubbornly, and then leaned down to kiss him.

She heard twin giggles behind her and straightened. Alex started in on his new favorite song.

"Mommy 'n Daddy sittin' tree, k-i-s-s…"

Buffy groaned. She was going to pummel whoever had taught him that song. She suspected that it was his Uncle Xander. Tickling quickly ended Alex's chorus, but Robin simply picked up where he had left off. Buffy only had the one set of hands, but Giles was thankfully able to take over the task of tickling Robin, and they were spared the second verse.

* * *

Ethan groaned as he came to and struggled against the ropes which fastened his wrists behind him and tied him securely to the chair he sat in. Bound and gagged, and still in the lawyer's office, sitting in the chair before her desk like some unwilling client. He didn't know how she had seen through him so quickly. He had been a good enough actor to play the role of simpering librarian, begging to cut a deal with Wolfram and Hart. Maybe it had been the begging that had given him away. Maybe Giles did let a bit of old Ripper out now and then with people who weren't Chaos worshippers.

Lilah had the ring, and Ethan had a headache. He should have gotten out of town while he had the chance. This would teach him to play philanthropist. Never again. Chaos and mischief and trouble was all he would look to involve himself in from here on out. No more helping, no more favors. Just as soon as he got himself out of this mess.

* * *

Willow paced the length of her office at the homeless shelter in LA. No one thought anything of her stopping in for a visit; she did that on occasion, making sure things were running smoothly, still atoning for her involvement with Sabrina. If locking herself in the office and not talking to anyone was unusual, well, no one mentioned it. She couldn't stop pacing, holding the cordless phone in her hand, just staring at the keypad. There was something physically wrong with her fingers, because they refused to push the buttons. She had messed everything up, and she didn't know how to tell Buffy and Giles. There would be yelling, and Giles would take off his glasses and rub his eyes and sigh in that way that said, "I'm so disappointed in you," which would be almost worse than Buffy's yelling.

A knock on the window startled her so badly she dropped the phone.

"Ethan!"

He had come back and there was still a chance now, a chance to put everything right, to stick it to Wolfram and Hart, and save Giles, and earn back her place with the Scoobies.

She crossed to the window, almost bouncing on her feet with her excitement. "See! I knew you were a good guy, deep down," she said as she unlocked the window. "I knew you wouldn't bail out on me."

She leaned out to help him in, but he grabbed her shoulders and hauled her out instead, his grip bruising on her arms.

Her eyes widened, and she struggled. "You're not Ethan."

"Good guess." The man wearing Ethan's face held something to her nose, and although she tried not to breathe it in and tried to fight against him, in the end, she couldn't help but black out.

* * *

Xander and family had come and gone. The children were tucked in their respective beds. Giles and Buffy were curled up, side by side, on the couch. Buffy had been trying to reach Willow all evening, but no one was home. Research was getting them nowhere, and she hoped that Willow, at least, was making better progress with her attempts to hack into Wolfram and Hart's computer system. She was rapidly becoming their last hope.

"Can't we give them the ring?" Buffy asked.

He brushed a kiss across her forehead. "No."

"I mean, deactivate it or something with magic, so it's no good to them, but give them the ring."

"They'll ask for something else. They'll keep asking."

Buffy snuggled closer. "I hate lawyers."

"The evil ones are tiresome, at any rate."

She drew small circles on his chest as she said it timidly, "Maybe Lilah was right, though."

"Hmm…? Right about what?"

"Maybe we should go somewhere, you, me, the children. We could run off somewhere, some country where they don't have… you know, where they wouldn't give you back."

"Where they don't have extradition?"

"Yeah, that. We could live happily ever after somewhere that's not here."

"And who would guard the Hellmouth? Sunnydale? Your friends? We have a higher duty, obligations."

"And how am I supposed to do that without my watcher?" She sat up straight and twisted on the couch to look him in the eye. "I was beginning to think that maybe… with your magic shielding me on patrol, that maybe I might get to see our kids grow up, you know? You're breaking up the team here, Giles. I won't make it very long on my own. We both know that."

"You could ask Wesley to be your watcher."

"Yeah, 'cause we worked so well together the last time."

"He's changed since then. You've changed."

She leaned forward and laid her head against his chest, resuming her previous position snuggled up against his side. "Please, let's start over somewhere else. There's evil to fight all over the world, right? Riley ran off to fight demons in Brazil. Brazil sounds nice, don't you think? Warm, tropical. Wesley and Angel and everyone could take care of the Council stuff here."

"We'd be fugitives. You'd never be able to come back here, something the demon population would likely catch onto rather quickly. What about Dawn? Your job? April and John and their new grandson? Xander and Anya and our goddaughter? Willow? And I think you'd most likely perish without a mall or Starbucks close at hand." She giggled slightly, and he pressed her tighter against him. "You know we can't."

"I know. But let's just pretend we could."

"I thought we were pretending that everything was going to turn out all right and Willow was going to save the day?"

"That, too. But let's also pretend that we can run away to some exotic location with palm trees and room service and drinks with little umbrellas."

He frowned. "Are we running away or going on vacation?"

The doorbell rang and ended their conversation for the time being. Marianne was standing on their doorstep, and Buffy smiled back at her watcher as she let in their babysitter. "Time for patrol," she told him.

* * *

Willow woke up to find Ethan Rayne staring at her. She remembered that he had also been staring at her just before she passed out, and she attempted to scoot backwards from him, which was when she figured out that she was all tied up to the chair she was sitting in. That's also when she figured out that he was all tied up, too, except he was also gagged.

She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her attention to the woman crossing from behind her. The woman took a seat behind the desk and glanced at her computer screen for a moment, before finally noticing Willow glaring at her.

"Oh, good, you're awake."

Willow scowled at the woman. There was a time when she would have considered herself to have a pretty bad ass scowl, but she didn't feel so scary now without her magic. She felt like just plain, old Willow trying to puff herself up like a blowfish. "You better let us go before the Slayer comes here to kick your ass."

The woman laughed. "My, my, it seems there's no shortage of spunky women in your group." She got up out of her chair and walked around the desk, sitting on the edge facing Willow. "Trust me on this one: when the Slayer comes, it's not my ass she'll be kicking."

Willow nodded in Ethan's direction. "Well, she'll probably kick his ass, too." Ethan made a muffled noise of indignation. "But there'll be plenty to go around, lady, if you don't let us go like right now."

"Lilah. Lilah Morgan. Seems only right we should be properly introduced, seeing as you're going to be tied up in my office for a while. I am really sorry about the rope. It's only until they can spare someone from security to come babysit the pair of you." She gave Ethan an apologetic shrug. "And sorry about the gag. That's only until someone from spellcasting can come ward my office. Can't have you zapping in goblins and orcs and what have you. I just had my office redecorated."

"Oh, you can leave him gagged," Willow assured her. Ethan threw her a betrayed glare, and Willow merely turned up the voltage on her scowl and aimed it in his direction. "Mr. Steals the Ring Outta My Pocket and Then Lets It Fall into Enemy Hands. Yeah, you! This is all your fault!"

Lilah laughed. "Dissention in the ranks? In his defense, since he can't speak for himself at the moment, it would have ended this way no matter what. We were keeping close watch over all the members of Angel Investigations, which meant we had staked out Cordelia's apartment. We saw you both go in, and we followed you both out. Only questions were which one of you had the ring and did anyone else know what you were up to?"

She leaned forward, getting into Ethan's face as she taunted him. "God, the whole department is still laughing at how you waltzed right in here with the ring, like we wouldn't recognize it." He averted his eyes, his cheeks flaming red, with embarrassment or anger, Willow wasn't sure which. Lilah shook her head in disbelief. "You don't offer someone a ride home in the car you just stole from them."

"What are you going to do with us?"

Lilah returned her attention to Willow. "Nothing. This has never been about you or your friends. You're all simply a means to an end. This has always been about Angel."

She pushed off from the edge of her desk and started pacing lazy circles around the office, picking up pictures and knick-knacks, glancing absently at them, and then setting them back down again. Willow twisted her head and followed her with her eyes as she talked. "Wolfram and Hart have prophecies which outline the final apocalypse. Angel's a player, only neither side's managed to draft him yet. We want him to play for our team. And the prophecies tell us that the watcher and slayer will determine his allegiance. The senior partners hope to turn Angel dark, to change him back into the glorious killing machine he once was. And they think they can use the watcher and slayer to do that.

"So we needed the ring, but we'd prefer that they not know we have it just yet. It actually works out better this way, with the pair of you giving us the ring instead of the watcher trading it for his freedom. It allows us to continue with the original plan. But it also means that the two of you will just have to stay here as our guests until this whole thing plays out to its natural and gruesome conclusion."

Willow didn't like the sound of that. "What are you going to do?"

Lilah stopped her casual pacing and perched on the edge of the desk once more. She leaned forward and whispered it to Willow as if it were a secret, smiling proudly as if the plan were her idea. "When we're finished, your friends will hate Angel, but more importantly, he'll hate himself."

* * *

The children were in bed, and they had said goodnight to Marianne, Buffy seeing her safely home as she always did after dark. Patrol had been routine. A few fledgling vampires and an unidentified grave robbing demon that would require some research before the next night's patrol. Giles stretched and padded out to the kitchen for an icepack. He rarely took a beating on patrols anymore, as he no longer fought beside his slayer on the front lines. Whenever a fight would break out, he would retreat to a safe vantage point from which he could offer Buffy his magic as armor. Cloaked in his power, her own injuries would heal faster than with slayer metabolism alone, sometimes so quickly that she was unmarked by battle's end. Her slayer instincts were more attuned to her enemy, her reflexes sharper, even her strength bolstered by his magic.

Giles couldn't understand how the Council could have given up such a powerful weapon, how they could have sent their slayers out to fight alone, knowing how much more formidable they were when paired with their watcher. Except that he made himself a target by doing so, and some of the wiser vampires had figured out that in order to stand a chance against the Slayer, they first had to eliminate her Watcher. Buffy had never let any get close enough to pose a threat, but Giles imagined that in years past, slayers had lost their watchers on a regular basis. And there was the answer to his question: the Council had abandoned their slayers to save themselves.

He placed the icepack against his sore shoulder and closed the freezer door. Though he rarely took a beating on patrol anymore, during tonight's training session his slayer had given him enough bruises to make up for it. The last days' events had left her filled with anger and frustration, which she had inadvertently taken out on him.

Giles turned around and jumped, dropping the icepack.

"Angel!"

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." He motioned with one hand to the back door. "Door was unlocked. And I still had an invite."

Giles bent over and retrieved the icepack. He didn't look in Angel's eyes as he said it, but his voice was sincere. "You _are_ welcome here. You gave me back my daughter. I'll never forget that."

Their eyes met briefly before Angel turned his head to look out into the dining room.

"Buffy's upstairs," Giles informed him, answering the unspoken question.

"That's okay. I really came to speak with you. There's something I need to show you."

Giles nodded and set the icepack down on the counter, heading out of the kitchen. "I'll just let Buffy know."

"No, no time. It'll just take a minute." Angel took his hand and led him out the back door, propelling him onto the back porch ahead of him.

"What is-"

Giles felt the blow to the back of his skull, and it sent him stumbling to his knees. He turned, his arm instinctively coming up to shield his head, but the vampire struck another blow across his jaw, and Giles landed on his back, the world rapidly growing dark. Angel was smiling down on him, the same smile that still occasionally gave him nightmares so many years later. Giles blinked, only his eyes didn't open again, and his thoughts slipped away from him.

The last thing he heard was Angel's mocking voice, "Lookie, lookie, watcher gets another concussion."

* * *

Buffy trudged down the stairs, tired and disheartened. "One more glass of water and a goodnight kiss from Daddy, and they _swear_ they'll go right back to sleep," she muttered as she pulled two kiddy glasses out of the cupboard and filled them halfway with water. She wasn't sure how the twins managed to hear them come in from patrol every night, but they always woke up and always needed their parents to tuck them in once more before they would settle back to sleep.

She saw his icepack sitting on the counter, and she stuck it back in the freezer.

"Giles? You're wanted upstairs." Only silence answered her. "Giles?" she called louder.

Then she noticed that the back door was open. "Giles?"

She walked out onto the back porch, expecting to see him sitting there. It was where he went whenever he was feeling closed in, whenever he needed open space, and he often forgot to close the door if he was feeling especially claustrophobic. In the last two days, with the threat of jail hanging over his head, he seemed to crave open space like he had during those first few weeks after Willow's spell had trapped him.

But he wasn't sitting on the back porch.

"Giles?"

She walked down the first few steps, her eyes scanning the backyard for some sign of a struggle. Fear was beginning to tighten her stomach and speed her heart rate. She dashed back inside and grabbed for the phone.

Next: Chapter 5: Reprise


	5. Reprise

ORIGINALLY POSTED: October 22, 2002  
TITLE: The Fine Art of Blackmail  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Family Business, Giles and Buffy have their daughter back and are running the Council, but will Wolfram and Hart use Giles' past sins to destroy the life they've built?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 5: Reprise

Day three of Giles' five day countdown dawned not so brightly as the day before. Partly because thick curtains sealed away the morning light and shrouded him in darkness, partly because in waking, he discovered a pounding headache and an uncomfortable queasiness in the pit of his stomach, but mostly because waking on that third day confirmed that he was Angel's prisoner, gagged and bound to a chair in the very same mansion, in the very same room in which he had been tortured nearly seven years before. A sense of dread settled over him as he concluded that he was about to endure a repeat performance.

A cool touch stroked along the nape of his neck, and he shivered.

"Good. You're awake. I was beginning to get worried. And bored." Angel swam into his blurry vision as he pulled up a chair in front of him and straddled it. He leaned forward, and Giles jerked back, reconsidering the sudden movement when it only increased the pounding in his skull and the miserable nausea.

"Thought maybe I hit you too hard." A finger tapped on his forehead, and he flinched back reflexively. "You got a thick skull, though. How many times is this for you?"

Giles flexed his jaw, attempting to shift the gag in his mouth. It was tied too tight, biting into the corners of his mouth.

Angel hooked a finger beneath the cloth and twisted once, increasing the tension across his jaw. "Yeah, I'm not so fond of the gag either. Ordinarily, I enjoy a good soundtrack with my torture, but I hear you got in touch with your inner sorcerer." Angel twisted his finger a second rotation, pulling the gag even tighter. Giles squeezed his eyes shut and wondered if the vampire were going to start by dislocating his jaw. "Wouldn't want you to turn me into a rat or something. Or even worse: curse me with a soul again."

He abruptly pulled his finger out from beneath the gag, and the cloth loosened until it was only moderately uncomfortable. Giles let his head fall forward in relief.

"Yeah, the whole soul cursing thing never turns out well for me. First time: spent a hundred years skulking in shadows, eating rats. Second time: girlfriend sent me to hell. I'm thinking this time, just as a favor from you to me, you get the chance… just dust me. Leave the ensouling to Spike if you feel like neutering some vamp." Angel rose from his chair, laughing. "Right… Spike already _is_ neutered."

Giles glared daggers at Angel, trying to convey through his eyes the misery he would inflict before allowing Angel the mercy of dust. Flaming baseball bats were nothing compared to the spells he was imagining right now.

The vampire began to pace the confines of the small room. "We got some time to kill, you and I. Sun just came up, so I'm stuck here 'til it goes down again. Aw shucks, I had them turn the cable off when I moved to LA. What, oh what, shall we do to pass the time?"

Giles twisted his hands behind him, straining to loosen the ropes. He was tied more securely than he had been the last time, his wrists fastened tightly together and then lashed to the chair back. Angel had taken the precaution of binding his legs this time as well, his ankles strapped to the chair legs with rope knotted as tightly as that around his wrists. Angel was actually afraid of him this time, afraid of his magic, afraid of his power, as well he should be.

Angel dragged the empty chair over to place it behind Giles. He could sense the vampire's presence behind him, cold hands hovering over his own. The fingers. He knew the fingers would be the first.

"You'll let me know if I'm not doing this right, won't you? You probably remember it better than I do. A few hundred years in a hell dimension can make a person forgetful."

Giles turned his head to study the thin crack of light that trespassed beneath the drapes. Angel had said the sun was up, but Giles guessed just barely. The light was still hazy, the shadows it cast too long. He judged it to be just past sunrise. He calculated the time until sunset, tried to remember how long he had suffered the last time, and found that he couldn't remember. The whole experience had blurred together, nightmares and memory melding into a surreal mesh of pain and fear.

Giles flinched as the first finger broke, biting down on the gag as he braced himself for the next.

* * *

Buffy had searched for him all night. All twelve cemeteries. Crypts, woods, abandoned warehouses, alleys, demon lairs. Marianne stayed with the children while she did, looking after little Zoey as well so that Anya and Xander could do their part: stopping into Willy's to see if any demons had stopped by to brag about bagging a watcher, making the rounds of the hospitals to see if he had been brought in. Buffy asked dispatch to send two patrol cars on a sweep of the city.

By sunrise, Buffy was desperate, sleep-deprived, and convinced that Wolfram and Hart had something to do with her husband's disappearance, but clueless on how to strike back at the law firm. Angel had been battling them for years without success. And they were human, so she couldn't just charge in, guns blazing, not even for Giles.

She banged the front door behind her and dropped onto the couch, exhausted. Alex climbed into her lap, sucking on his thumb. Robin loitered at the bottom of the stairs.

"Find Daddy?" her son asked.

Buffy threw Marianne a stern glare. "You told them?"

"No, of course not. Alex just knew. He had a nightmare last night, and when he woke up, he said a bad man was hurting his father. I told him you were out looking, that you'd bring his father home. It was the only way I could get him back to sleep."

She closed her eyes and kissed her little boy on his forehead. She was remembering the prophetic dreams her son had on occasion: knowing his sister's name, knowing about the fire that nearly killed her, warning Travers about his death, foreseeing the Mortog beast and the terrifying events of that night on the beach. Buffy understood about prophetic dreams. She had them quite often herself. The difference here was that Alex was only three, nearly four, and scary visions were too much to ask a child that age to cope with. If Giles was being hurt… If Alex had seen the details… She hugged her son closer to her chest.

But there was also the possibility that Alex had dreamt something useful, something that would help her find Giles, and so she needed to ask their son the specifics of his nightmare.

"Little Rabbit, can you tell me about your dream?"

Alex snuggled closer into her embrace, as if he could burrow right back into the safety of her womb. Robin turned and ran upstairs, which was just as well. She didn't need to hear this.

"Bad man take Daddy."

Buffy rubbed his back gently, trying to soothe him. He was trembling, and she could hear in his voice that he was near tears. "What did the man look like, honey?"

"Like Uncie Angel."

"You mean a vampire? Yellow eyes, bumpy head?"

Alex nodded against her, and then started to cry. "Daddy hurt. Scared."

"Shhh," Buffy murmured against the boy's hair, holding him tight and rocking him. "Mommy'll find him. Everything's going to be fine."

A vampire. Vampires were easy. And she was allowed to kill vampires. In fact, it was kind of her job title. Vampire Slayer.

* * *

It was different this time. Angelus was different. The first time, the vampire had tortured with words as well as hands, had enjoyed listening to the sound of his own lilting Irish as he taunted Giles with what he would do next. He had forced him to listen to graphic descriptions of Jenny's murder, a vulgar account of Buffy's virgin night, detailed promises of what torment he intended for the Slayer in the future if Acathla didn't open and the world didn't end. Better to give up the secret now and save her the pain.

This time, Angel was more silent than not. Giles wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. On the one hand, he didn't have to endure endless verbal assaults as Angel poured salt into already raw emotional wounds. On the other hand, without the vampire's constant mocking narrative, Giles couldn't anticipate the pain, and that made it sharper when it came, meant he was always bracing himself for whatever might come next, meant that even if he were allowed a short respite between sessions of torture, he couldn't seem to relax and rest, knowing that the pain would resume again without warning.

His ribs were broken. It hurt to breathe, and so he tried not to do it too deeply. Short, shallow breaths, and even those stabbed. He tried not to look at the curtained window too often either, with its small sliver of light which was his only indication of the passage of time. A watched sun never sets. At last check, he had guessed midmorning, not even noon yet, not even half over yet. And that was only if Angel truly planned to end the torture when the sun set. Best case scenario. But there was nothing stopping him from continuing past then, or from going out to feed, to hunt, to drop in on Buffy unawares, incapacitate her, drag her back here, and force Giles to watch her die before beginning all over again.

He didn't need Angel's mocking narrative. Giles' imagination painted enough horrible possibilities all on its own.

Giles stiffened suddenly in his chair as a sharp jolt spiraled up his arms. Angel had returned from wherever he had disappeared to, and the break was over. Cold hands were twisting his broken fingers, sending relentless waves of agony pulsing up his arms. Giles fought to control his breathing, to maintain the slow, steady rate that would save him the added pain of his broken ribs. But then Angel laid one hand on his shoulder as the other continued toying with his broken digits, and with one swift movement of that preternaturally strong hand, Angel dislocated Giles' shoulder.

Giles screamed. No longer able to control his breathing, he sucked in great gulps of air, his ribs protesting each inhalation.

"Don't know about you, but I find Southern California can get a little chilly in the winter time. Whadya say we warm things up a bit, huh?"

Angel entered his field of vision, dragging something behind him. Giles turned his head to see what it was. A small brazier of hot coals was warming various metal instruments in its fire. Groaning, he averted his gaze. His eyes sought out the sliver of light beneath the drapes, trying to guess at the time.

He felt the vampire's fingers brush across his skin as the undead hands carefully unbuttoned the front of his shirt. Angel whistled appreciatively as he spread the fabric to either side, reaching out to trace his fingers across the patchwork pattern of old scars.

"Souvenirs of our time together."

Giles shuddered beneath the vampire's reverent touch.

"Makes me a bit nostalgic." Angel spread Giles' shirtfront further open, sliding the fabric down over his shoulders and as far down his arms as the watcher's bonds would allow. He tugged the hem from his trousers and tucked the fabric behind him, out of the way. "Ever wonder what it feels like to be a vampire?"

Giles felt himself panic as he hadn't in all the hours leading up to now, and he struggled violently against the ropes holding him. As a vampire, freed from human feeling or conscience, but still possessing a watcher's knowledge and training, Giles knew he would finish what Joseph and Sabrina had started. He would kill Faith and Buffy. He would kill his own daughter. No more slayers. His son and Wesley would die next. No more watchers.

He writhed his hands behind him, mindless of his broken fingers, and twisted his feet desperately against the rope that held his ankles firm.

Angel laughed at his frantic struggles, leaning over him, nuzzling against his neck. Giles squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head to the side, trying to evade Angel's fangs, but in doing so, he only bared his neck more. He heard his heart hammering in his ears. He'd rather die than drink, rather die than be turned, but he knew Angel could force the blood down his throat. There was nothing Giles could do except pray that Angel would remove the gag first, that he would inadvertently give the watcher an opportunity to use magic.

Angel pulled away, laughing. "That's not what I meant, but it's a good idea. I'll have to keep it in mind for later." He turned and pulled something from the coals with a pair of pliers. He held it up for Giles' inspection: a large metal cross, the size of a man's hand. It glowed red from the heat of the fire.

"Ever wonder what it feels like to be a vampire?" he asked again.

* * *

Ethan's pacing was beginning to drive Willow nuts. Two guards at the door, magical wards in place, they weren't going anywhere. He might as well have a seat. Except he was having a nic fit, dying for a cigarette, and Lilah had forbidden him from smoking in her office. Willow could almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

It would have been a good excuse to get him outside, past the wards where he might cast a little bat signal spell or something, but the guards weren't that stupid.

Lilah came in and out. Willow watched her when she came in, watched her fingers over her keyboard, intently watched every keystroke. People underestimated her now, thought she was powerless with her magic all locked away. Lilah certainly seemed to think so. Plain, mousy Willow, who couldn't float a pencil with 10 feet of fishing line. People forgot that she could work magic with computers. And she was fairly certain she had figured out Lilah's passwords.

When the lawyer left again, Willow kicked Ethan in the shin as he walked past her.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"Sit down already. You're making me dizzy."

His chin jutted out, and he defiantly continued his pacing, purposefully avoiding passing within kicking distance again.

Willow rolled her eyes. Stealth was lost on Ethan. He needed an anvil dropped on his head. Literally. "Dissimŭlāre." It was the beginning incantation to a cloaking spell, which wouldn't have done a bit of good in the warded office, even if she did have her powers, except that maybe now Ethan would catch a clue.

He eyed her skeptically before dropping down on the couch beside her. He picked up the television remote from a side table and flicked on the TV that was built into the office bookcase across from them. "Nothing else to do. Maybe there's something on the telly." He turned the volume up, not enough to be obnoxious or obvious, but enough that they could whisper without the guards overhearing.

Willow feigned interest in the television program, even as she mumbled out the side of her mouth to Ethan. "I think I can get into Lilah's computer if you distract the guards."

"What's that going to do?"

"I don't know. But it's worth a shot, right?"

* * *

Angel had found a new game. Giles was exhausted and beyond caring if he lived or died. He just wanted it over. The marks left by the cross on his chest, his stomach, his shoulders still burned almost unbearably. The thirst was beginning to take a toll now, too. The cloth gag had long since sucked dry every last drop of moisture from his mouth, and its cotton fibers tasted of the bile he barely kept down when the pain was at its worst. His broken fingers still ached, and his ribs seemed to progressively hurt more with each shaking breath. His shoulder was barely returned to its socket, and it screamed bloody murder if he strained against his bonds too fiercely. All of that paled in comparison to Angel's new game.

It had started when Angel had again brought the searing cross towards his chest in slow motion, enjoying Giles' desperate attempts to avoid the burning metal for as long as possible. Angel had dragged the moment out, only gradually moving the cross closer and closer, until Giles could feel the heat scorching his chest by its mere proximity. He already knew from experience that the actual touch of that fiery cross would be infinitely worse.

Giles had pushed himself as far back in the chair as he could, his spine pressed flush to the high wood back, and still Angel moved the cross forward at a snail's pace. Giles had continued to writhe his hands in their bonds, trying to squirm out of them or somehow loosen the knots. His fingers were already slick with sweat or blood from his efforts, but his struggles accomplished nothing. He had exhaled in an attempt to buy himself even one more second before the inevitable agony.

Angel had stopped and held the cross right there. Giles was spared for as long as he could hold his breath, but he knew the first inhalation would expand his chest enough to bring him into contact with the waiting cross. He had held his breath for as long as he could, his face turning red, sweat beading his forehead, his whole body shaking with the effort. But when he had reached his limit, his body forced him to draw that next breath.

Intense and excruciating and beyond bearing. He had exhaled as quickly as he could, holding his breath once more.

And that was Angel's new game. Giles was uncertain how long they had remained like this, Angel holding the burning cross a single breath away, and Giles staving off every breath for as long as he could, but it seemed like an eternity. He was afraid to turn his head and seek out the light beneath the drapes, afraid that it would tell him that it had only been minutes. Sometimes he teetered on the edge of passing out, and he wished he would, but that damnable instinct for self-preservation would always force the next breath into his lungs. Sometimes another and another, three or four gasping, agonizing breaths until he had enough oxygen to hold it again.

Angel pulled the cross away finally, and Giles went limp, sucking in air like a drowning man. The vampire was only heating the metal in the coals again, but for the moment that meant Giles could catch his breath, could release the tension coiled in his body, could close his eyes and rest for even a moment.

"You do realize this has nothing to do with you, don't you?"

Giles cracked an eye open slightly. Angel was stirring the fire with the pliers, digging out a nest of white hot coals to bury the cross in.

"It's always been about Buffy. You think I cared what it did to you, finding her broken body in your bed? No. I waited outside Buffy's house until you called her. It was her grief I wanted to witness. I hurt you because it hurt her. And when she's hurt, she's sloppy. Rattle her, and she loses her edge. Rage, anger, and defiance fuel the fire, give her strength. But grief, despair, and guilt give her doubt, make her hesitate. How many times could she have killed me in those months? Perhaps your Jenny would still be alive. But she was blind to what I'd become, blinded by emotion, and it made her hesitate. Made her weak."

Angel dragged his chair back over in front of Giles and casually flipped it, straddled it, and rested his arms over the back. He studied his prey for several moments before reaching out to gently remove the glasses from Giles' face. He patted the watcher's trouser pockets until he'd found the ever present handkerchief and whipped it out. Angel breathed on the glass and carefully polished Giles' sweat from the lenses. He held the frames up to the light to check they were clean before replacing them on his captive's face. One finger on the nosepiece pushed the glasses up to their proper place, and Giles flinched back at the memory that evoked. Past and present were all melding together.

Angel smiled.

"Her feelings for you run a little deeper this time, huh, Rupe? Must admit, I still haven't puzzled that one out. I mean, let's be honest with each other here. You're looking your age. You're tired, worn out." Angel smirked and leaned forward to brush his fingers across the many burn marks now beginning to blister Giles' skin. "Marked up. Plus, there's that whole mentor thing. Don't you feel like you're taking advantage of your young charge? I always figured you'd be walking her down the aisle, not standing on the other end of it."

Angel shook his head. "Can't imagine what Buffy sees in an old fool like you. Doesn't matter, I guess. Whatever the reason, you mean the world to her." He paused. "I'm going to shatter that world. I'm going to shatter _you_. Until she can't see straight, until she can't _fight_ straight."

Angel abandoned his chair in favor of pacing circles around his captive. Giles tensed, bracing himself for the next onslaught. Angel stopped just behind him, and he felt the vampire's hands curl over his shoulders. He tried to make himself relax. If Angel wanted to rip his shoulders from their sockets again, then it would hurt much less if he didn't try to fight it. But the basic flight or fight response is a difficult one to overcome, entrenched deep in the human psyche, and Giles found he couldn't relax, his whole body trembling beneath Angel's hands.

"I'm just trying to figure out what would _really_ mess Buffy up. What could I do to you that would send her over the edge?" He leaned forward and whispered it in Giles' ear as his hand snaked down the watcher's burned chest, reaching lower. "What could I do to her _husband_-" He spat the word like a curse. "-that would shake her to the core? That would make her careless?" Angel's hand found its mark, stopping between Giles' legs, inhuman grip grabbing at his crotch, squeezing cruelly until he couldn't breathe, even if he wanted to.

Angel laughed at Giles' misery. "So, you've had a taste of being a vampire: why we really hate crosses. Ever wonder what it's like to be a vampire with a perfect happiness clause, my friend? I know. Let's castrate you, and you can find out."

Giles mercifully blacked out.

* * *

"You won't find him if you black out for lack of food either, Buffy. You haven't eaten all day, have you? Come on, ten minutes. We'll go through the drive-thru, and you can eat in the car."

April didn't wait for Buffy's response before steering their patrol car towards the McDonald's entrance. If she was honest with herself, Buffy was in no shape to be patrolling. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. Worse than that, she seemed permanently stuck in the role of "bad cop" to April's "good cop," so much so that April actually felt sorry for the questionable characters they stopped to interrogate.

She shouted their order at the drive-thru speaker, understood nothing of what was repeated back, and pulled up to the first window. Buffy had claimed she wasn't hungry. April had simply ordered for her.

She studied her partner as they waited for their food: sullen, brooding, face devoid of the usual spark that signified Buffy, eyes glazed over with fatigue and despair, hair haphazardly pulled back in a ponytail, dark circles beneath her eyes. April had seen her partner after sleepless nights, she had seen her upset and emotional, but she had never seen her like this. She wondered if this was the face John had seen so many months ago, when both she and Giles had lain unconscious, lost to those who loved them best.

"You look like shit," she told Buffy. A partner was nothing, if not brutally honest. "You need a break. You need some sleep."

"Not 'til I find Giles."

"You know, there's a reason you're not the only cop on the force. You can't do everything by yourself. They've given us as many men as they could spare. That means you nap, and they keep looking. Then they sleep while we look. It's this whole rotation thing the chief came up with. I think he's calling it a work shift."

Her sarcasm failed to get a rise out of Buffy. She merely turned weary, but determined eyes in April's direction and asked, "Could you stop? If it was John?"

Well, she had her there. April sighed and handed over her money to the teen at the first window. She pulled up to the second and waited for their food. She handed over the warm bags to Buffy's lap, stuck the sodas in the cup holders, and stole a french fry off the top as she pulled into a parking space. She waited until Buffy had started eating before saying anything.

"John went missing once, five or six years ago. I was heading the investigation of a particularly gruesome serial killer. He liked to remove his victims' brains."

"Brain sucking demon," Buffy muttered, and then stole a guilty glance in her partner's direction, as if she had let something slip.

"Yeah, there are some pretty sick people in the world," April agreed. "I guess you could call them demons. Anyway, I got home after getting a good look at the latest crime scene, and John wasn't there. I flipped. He was gone the whole day, and I fully expected to find him at another crime scene, outlined in chalk. By the end of the day, I was so distraught, that night on patrol I actually thought I saw a pair of werewolves." April giggled sheepishly. "Silly, huh? Can you say 'sleep-deprivation-induced hallucinations?'

"My point is this: John wasn't being tortured by some sadistic killer. He was fine. He had gone to LA with a friend for the day, knowing that I would be tied up at work, and he forgot to leave a note. He got home before the ten o'clock news, bearing a fresh carton of milk and laundry detergent, and without the slightest clue that half the Sunnydale Police Department was looking for him."

"Giles didn't wander off for the day. He was home, and then he was gone. For the whole night. And now most of the day, too."

April patted Buffy on the knee. "I know. I'm just saying… Don't assume the worst. He's probably fine. And when this is all over, he'll owe you flowers and chocolate for worrying you so."

* * *

"So they pay you pretty good?"

"Ethan!" Willow scolded.

"What? Don't act all surprised. You already knew that I've no qualms about auctioning off my services to the highest bidder." He sidled up to the two guards at the door. "So Wolfram and Hart… they pay pretty good?"

They each shrugged and nodded gamely. One guard tacked on, "My wife complains about the long hours sometimes, but the Firm gives us stock options, great health insurance, 401K, the whole nine yards."

Ethan nodded thoughtfully and leaned against the wall. Whether this was his attempt to distract the guards or whether he really was contemplating joining up with Wolfram and Hart, Willow couldn't be sure. But the guards had both turned to face Ethan, leaving Willow unwatched for the moment. They were still standing between their prisoners and the door, so they probably felt little need to watch Willow that closely. What could she do in Lilah's little office after all? Actually, quite a lot.

"So… Any idea if they're looking to hire on another sorcerer? My particular specialties run to chaos and mischief, something I think Wolfram and Hart might appreciate."

"You could check with Human/Demon Resources after they let you go. There's a job posting board outside the main office."

Willow typed quietly and quickly. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her, her heart rate increasing, and she was getting all sweaty. She had to hurry before security noticed what she was up to.

"Now would you suggest signing on full time, or doing freelance work? Because I've found that working in a team is really not my strong suit."

"They generally start you off as a contractor anyway before offering you a job. I freelanced for them maybe three years, mostly security for parties, dark rituals, that sort of thing, before I got hired on permanent. Chuck here, he only worked as an assassin for… what?"

"Six months."

"Six months before they gave him a job."

Lilah's passwords were good, and Willow had successfully breached all her security measures. Now all that was left was to find something in her files that could prove useful.

"Assassin?" Ethan sounded distinctly uncomfortable.

"Former assassin," he was corrected.

The other guard laughed. "Chuck here's like the pit bull you keep in the shadows. The doberman's to scare off the crooks, but the pit bull… you won't hear him coming, and he'll take you down before you know he's there."

Willow had found everything she needed. She compressed it, emailed it to herself, then erased every trace of her snooping from Lilah's computer. _Come on, Ethan,_ she mentally prayed. _Give me just one more minute._

"So be straight with me now. Who around here do I want to avoid working for? Biggest pain for a boss?"

* * *

Cold water across his face forced him abruptly to consciousness. For a moment, he could allow himself to believe that it had simply been another nightmare, but the pain awakened as he did. He moaned softly as the last of the fog lifted from his head. He hurt everywhere.

"Thought I went a little too far there."

Angel's soft voice drifted to his ears from somewhere behind him, each word imbued with the slightest hint of an Irish brogue which only rose to the surface in the incarnation of Angelus. Souled, he had no accent, as if time and regret had stripped him of both the man and the monster he had been. Angel was neither, a lesson Giles had apparently not learned well enough the first time. He had treated Angel as a man, and as a consequence, now found himself reintroduced to the monster.

Giles shifted in his chair. Remembering the last moment before unconsciousness, his eyes dropped to his lap. There would be blood, surely, if Angel had… And more pain than just the dull ache. Or perhaps Angel had merely wanted alert prey for the big finale and had waited for him to regain consciousness.

His fears seemed confirmed when Angel circled around to the front and dropped to his knees before Giles. Angel walked two fingers up the length of one leg, pausing over the zipper of Giles' trousers as he savored the sight of his captive's weak, panicked struggles. In the end, Angel's hand fell away as the vampire collapsed in a fit of laughter, his head dropping to rest against Giles' knee.

"Not that I wouldn't love to, my friend, but you'd only pass out again, and I need you awake enough to tell Buffy exactly who has been your host today. The girl lives in the land of denial sometimes, and I'm afraid she's gonna need to hear it from you before she believes what's right in front of her eyes."

Angel lifted his head and grinned wickedly. "Doesn't mean there aren't other games we can play for the next few hours. Plenty of games that'll still keep you right here. With me."

He sat up on his knees, leaning forward until they were nearly nose to nose. "There's more than one way to break a man," he assured Giles.

* * *

Cordelia stumbled in the front door, not bothering to close it behind her, and unsteadily made her way to the couch, sinking down onto its cushions gratefully. "Dennis, can you get the door?" She cradled her head in her hands, as if that could help slow the pounding. "Dennis?"

She blew out an irritated breath and pulled herself up off the couch. "Fine. I'll shut the door myself." She slammed it a little too hard and flinched as the loud noise only increased her headache. "Okay, Dennis, I know you're mad at me about the other night. We were supposed to watch Thursday night TV, and I ditched you for Wesley, and I'm _sorry_ already. But this silent treatment is really getting old."

She crawled back on the couch, pulling an afghan over her. "Vision Girl just wants a little pampering tonight. Is that too much to ask for? I mean, I selflessly suffer through these skull-splitting techno-color visions so people I don't even know can avoid having their livers served with fava beans and a nice bottle of chianti. Can't you just be not mad at me long enough to bring me like a whole bottle of Tylenol? Or maybe some of that migraine stuff the doctor prescribed?"

Only silence answered her. She sighed. Maybe she deserved his anger. It was pretty easy to take someone for granted when you couldn't even see them. But would it kill him to float her out _something_ from her medicine cabinet?

"Dennis? Come on, roomie, I need you. Wesley's still out with Angel and the gang, saving those kids from my vision. And I think if I try to stand up again, I'm gonna puke." She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Light was not her friend at the moment. "I'll even settle for a couple Mydol, if you feel like being a smart ass again."

Nothing. If your invisible roommate chooses to ignore you, you can be fairly certain that you've achieved a whole new level of bitca.

"I really am sorry, Dennis."

Everything flashed bright, and the pain exploded in her skull once more. "Angel!" she screamed. Rapid fire images assailed her: Angel in game face, Wesley thrown across the room, Gunn and Fred not fast enough to reach him before…

She sat bolt upright. "Buffy!" Oh, God, this couldn't be good.

* * *

Buffy saw it before she'd reached the front porch: a single, long stemmed red rose balanced between the doorknob and jamb.

Her step faltered, and April followed her gaze. "See? I told you everything would be fine. He was probably just out, planning some romantic surprise." She nudged her partner playfully. "Lucky girl. I can't remember the last time John bought me flowers."

Buffy ignored her and marched up to the front door. She took the rose stem gingerly between two fingers, as if it might contaminate her, and tossed it aside. Giles never bought roses. Giles _hated_ roses.

She threw open the door and gasped.

The lighting was dim, romantic. Puccini played over the stereo, an opera Buffy didn't recognize by name, only by Giles' reaction when he happened past it once on the radio. Wine was chilling in an ice bucket sitting on the foyer table, two champagne flutes waiting beside it and a folded piece of paper leaning against the bottle. Buffy didn't need to look at it to know what it would say. _Upstairs._ The stairs were littered with more roses, votive candles lighting the path.

April moved to leave, still believing that she was intruding on a romantic setup, but Buffy grabbed her hand before she could go. She must have finally taken in the stricken expression on Buffy's face, because her voice quickly filled with concern. "Buffy? Are you okay?"

"Turn off the music," Buffy demanded sharply before starting up the stairs.

One step at a time. Her hands were shaking, her knees felt weak. She was torn between wanting to run up the flight of stairs and wanting never to go up them at all. She seemed to be moving in slow motion, and yet she was standing in the hallway before she knew it.

Their bedroom door was open, candlelight flickering against the walls. Buffy hesitated in the doorway, her hand darting out to steady herself against the wall.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh please, God, no._

She took a deep breath, braced herself, and crossed the threshold.

Giles was laid out on their bed, unmoving and still, so pale, so fragile in the candlelight. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or if he was…

She shook herself out of her daze and rushed to his side, clasping one of his hands in hers. He cried out as she touched him, his head arching back into the pillow. He was alive at least. She placed his hand back down on his chest, as gently as she could. She noticed then the unnatural bent of his fingers in repose and remembered watching from a distance, all those years ago, as his splinted fingers removed his glasses, as he limped to join the friends she had planned to abandon.

His eyes blinked half open, glassy with exhaustion and pain.

"Giles?" she whispered softly, leaning over him, as close as she could get without actually touching him. She didn't know where else he was hurt. She noticed the angry, red burns peeking out from beneath his open collar, and she stifled a sob.

He rolled his head slightly to the side as his eyes sought her out. His voice was hoarse. "Buffy?"

"Right here." She blinked back tears and dared a tender caress across his brow, her fingers lingering at his temple. She could hear April in the background, radioing dispatch for an ambulance.

He closed his eyes again, mumbling, "Tired."

She knew it was a redundant question. She didn't even know why she asked. Except that she had to know for certain. "Giles, did… did he do this? Did…?"

She didn't need to finish her question. He knew what she was trying to ask. His eyes were still closed, but she heard the rage in his answer, one word filled with the memory of a bed of roses and death, fire and smoke, pain and fear, loss and betrayal.

"Angelus."

* * *

The front door stood open. Long gone paramedics had trampled the roses on the stairs. Most of the votive candles had burned out. A few guttered their last moments. April had thankfully shut off the stereo. The house was silent. Buffy made not a sound as she strode down the stairs, past the untouched wine, weapons bag in hand, a grim mask of determination set on her face. She unlocked the front closet and flung it open, reaching in for more weapons, her movements steady and calm as she was not.

She closed the bag and hefted it over her shoulder in one fluid movement, as she swept out of the house without bothering to close the door behind her.

She had ridden in the ambulance. Giles had faded in and out of consciousness, helped into a merciful daze by the drugs they gave him. She had waited at the hospital only long enough to know that he would survive before taking off again. With any luck, April wouldn't notice her disappearance until she was halfway to LA. Buffy had returned to their defiled home with a singular purpose, and within minutes had changed out of her officer's uniform and traded in her gun for an arsenal of more appropriate weaponry.

There would be people enough to sit with Giles. Their children, too, would be cared for.

For this mission, she had to go alone. This blood was hers and no one else's. This time, she was no lovesick teenager. She was a woman. A mother. A wife. But Slayer, first, foremost, and always.

Tonight she had a past to face, a duty to fulfill, a wrong to put right.

An ex to slay.

Next: Chapter 6: Bloodlust


	6. Bloodlust

ORIGINALLY POSTED: October 24, 2002  
TITLE: The Fine Art of Blackmail  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Family Business, Giles and Buffy have their daughter back and are running the Council, but will Wolfram and Hart use Giles' past sins to destroy the life they've built?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 6: Bloodlust

Willow sat innocently on the couch, as if she hadn't just plundered all of Lilah's deep, dark secrets. Lilah, however, seemed oblivious to the suspicious silence of her unwilling guests. She was more focused on the other lawyer who had followed her in.

"And how would you know that, Gavin?"

"I have my sources." The second lawyer seemed to be roughly the same age as Lilah, handsome, Oriental, the same smug attitude that seemed to come with a Wolfram and Hart paycheck. Watching the two of them, Willow felt almost as if she had ringside seats to a title fight.

"Well, I'll have you know," Lilah informed him haughtily as she crossed her arms, "that I _meant_ to bring the Slayer here."

Willow sat up straighter. _Buffy_?

Gavin Park shook his head as if amused. "On a rampage, no less. What could that possibly accomplish?"

"She's going to force Angel into a kill or be killed situation. My money's on our boy for this fight. And if killing the love of his life isn't enough to turn him dark, then Wolfram and Hart might as well call it quits on this little project."

Gavin raised one eyebrow. "And if _she_ kills _him_?"

Lilah shrugged. "He's threatened my life more times than I care to count. I won't exactly be weeping over his loss."

"Maybe you should be weeping over your own. Senior partners find out you got Angel dusted… They'll sack you. Literal sacks, Lilah."

Lilah strolled closer, putting herself inside the other's personal space. "Sometimes to get the big rewards, you have to roll the dice. You'd know that, Gavin, if you ever did anything except pester me. Now run along, and when I get promoted, maybe they'll let you have my office."

Ethan leaned closer to Willow and murmured, "Those two really hate each other."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Duh!"

He looked affronted at her casual dismissal. "It's more than a simple observation. Being a student of Chaos means understanding the relationships between people, the complex web that draws them together or holds them apart."

"I'm not your student," she insisted petulantly.

"Perhaps not. That doesn't mean you still can't learn something from me. These two," he nodded towards the two lawyers who were still trading insults, "push every button the other has. If you pay attention, you'll know just how to get under their skin yourself. Maybe that might be useful at some point in time."

She shifted away from him. More than 24 hours locked in a room with Ethan was too much to ask of anyone. And what normal person likes pineapple on their pizza anyway?

Gavin finally left, making it clear that he left not because Lilah was kicking him out, but because he had something more important to do.

Gavin was gone no more than five minutes before Lilah had another visitor. Willow jumped to her feet. "Angel!"

Angel smiled at her. "Hey, cutie."

Willow frowned. He was a little more chipper than she was used to. "Okay, you've never called me that before."

Lilah took a seat at her desk. "Everything go as planned?"

Angel sat across from her, propping his feet up on her desk. "Easy as pie."

Willow's eyes went round with shock, and she pointed back and forth between Angel and Lilah. "You're… you're _working_ for-for…? Angel! How could…? Oh… oh…" She covered her open mouth with her hand as she finally got it. "You're not Angel." Not Angelus either, for Willow had seen the ring on his finger.

He confirmed her deduction, absently twisting the ring on his finger now that she had noticed it. "No, not Angel. But I know my darling boy well enough to play the part convincingly."

"The information we gave you was sufficient?" Lilah asked. "The police reports? His medical file?"

"Plus the parts Drusilla let slip. The parts that made sense, at any rate. The Watcher and I had a fun day together, revisiting some history back at the mansion. I get why Angelus needed Dru to break him. Pain alone won't cut it."

Willow sank slowly down to the couch. Her hands dropped limply into her lap. "You tortured Giles again?"

"And again and again and again." Angel smiled in her direction, and although she knew he wasn't Angelus, she shivered all the same when he looked at her like that. "And again. What Angelus did the first time and more." He faced Lilah and finished his report. "Left him in his bed for the Slayer to find. I imagine she's on her way right now."

Willow wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling like someone had just punched her in the gut. Her head was all swimmy, and she wanted to barf. Poor Giles. She felt Ethan's hand rest between her shoulder blades, and his quiet touch was more soothing than she would have expected. Then again, he cared about Giles too, didn't he?

Angel removed his legs from Lilah's desk and stood up, crossing to the window, staring out over the LA nightlife in contemplation. "I still think it would have been easier for me to come to Angel as Buffy, to give him that moment of perfect happiness."

Lilah frowned and shook her head in disagreement. "Angel's too noble. Even forgetting for the moment that Buffy's a happily married woman, he wouldn't risk his soul, not knowing about the curse as he does now."

She came to stand beside Angel's doppelganger at the window, not looking out over the city, but studying the vampire's stolen face instead. "And even if you did get him into bed… because that worked out so well the last time you tried it," she tacked on bitterly. "Do you really think he'd be happy with Buffy, knowing that they could never have any kind of a future, that he would have to let her go home to another man and their children? Even as Buffy, the best you could give him would be another night of perfect despair."

"So Angelus will kill her instead," he muttered softly.

"And he'll be dark. And yours."

He rested his forehead against the glass. "My poor, darling boy. He'll still have his soul. His rotten, filthy soul. He'll still suffer for everything we ever did. And he'll hate me."

"He'll be driven to you, same as the last time he hit bottom. Only this time, he won't be having any epiphanies, won't be climbing out of the darkness to rebuild broken friendships. He'll have killed the love of his life. He'll be messed up, depressed, and pathetic, but he'll be yours, Darla. Forever. You can have him like that or not at all. Those are your choices."

The ring came off her finger, and the visage of Angel wavered like a mirage, solidifying into the small frame of Darla, Angel's Sire. She handed the ring off to Lilah, ran a shaky hand through her straight, blonde hair, and walked resolutely to the door. The guards parted for her, but she paused at the threshold, informing Lilah firmly, "When my boy comes for me, we're finished with Wolfram and Hart. You won't come looking for us."

"Whatever you want, Darla."

The vampire left. Lilah spared an apologetic look for her unwilling guests. "I'm sorry. Just a teensy bit longer, and you both can go home." She exited as well, and it was just Willow and Ethan and their two heavily armed babysitters.

Willow turned desperate eyes in Ethan's direction. "We have to get there before Angel kills Buffy or she kills him."

"Shhh…" he soothed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and glancing significantly at the guards. He pulled her in against his chest and wrapped the other arm around her, and Willow didn't fight him, just closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the smooth silk of his tacky shirt. She didn't care that it was Ethan. She just wanted someone to hold her for a moment, because everything was too overwhelming.

She kept thinking of Giles after the last time, how he had been that summer after Buffy ran away, hurting and lost and too stubborn to let any of them help him. Xander had stayed that first night, not because Giles had let him, but because he had been too tired to throw him out. After that, it had been put on a brave front and get back to business and pretend everything would be okay once they found Buffy, like none of them guessed at the nightmares that painted dark circles beneath his eyes or saw the pain flash across his face if he moved too quickly or noticed how he kept forgetting about the finger splints until he absently tried to use his hand and gasped in pain. And now, for Giles to have to go through it all again, just when things were really getting good between him and Angel… Willow started to cry, and Ethan held her tighter.

She felt so helpless. Too late to do anything for Giles. And they couldn't do anything to stop Buffy's suicide mission. Not stuck here in Lilah's office like they were.

His hand tenderly stroked her hair, a gentle motion that continued down her back. She had never thought of Ethan as gentle before. "Shhh…" he murmured beside her ear. "First law of Chaos: things never go as planned. Not for either side. The bad guys have had too much luck today for things to play out in their favor. Trust Chaos, my dear. It hasn't shown us its hand yet."

* * *

The red convertible came to an abrupt stop outside the Hyperion. The two-hour drive had allowed Buffy's anger to warm to a nice boiling point, her resolve strengthened as she stewed on what had been done to Giles. She had the crossbow out of her bag and loaded before she'd crossed the courtyard. She banged the front door open, her eyes immediately scanning the interior for her quarry, her slayer senses spreading out, searching, as she had a thousand times before, for that twinge, that spider sense that signaled vampire.

She descended the stairs smoothly. Rage gave her the grace of a panther. Kendra hadn't understood this, that slaying needed to be more than flawless technical skill, that it had to burn through your blood, had to well up from someplace deep inside that you couldn't bear to look at too closely, someplace primal. Dracula had tried to show it to her; the First Slayer had tried to make her understand, but she had blown them both off with her usual sparkling banter.

_I walk. I talk. I shop, I sneeze. I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. There's trees in the desert since you moved out. And I don't sleep on a bed of bones._

_You're _not_ the source of me._

She had wanted to believe that there was always the bigger picture, the greater good. But sometimes in the moment, there was only the hunt and the kill, and the rest was just pretty window-dressing. She was the Slayer, the Chosen One, the mightiest of hunters. That she served the forces of good didn't change her basic nature. And right now, there was only this moment, the hunt, the kill, and her prey.

Gunn and Fred stood up from where they were sitting on the lobby sofa. "Buffy!"

Wesley came out from the back office, wiping something off a short sword. "Buffy?"

She ignored them all and focused on the staircase. She could feel him coming down, his preternatural hearing probably alerting him to his friends' warnings. He leaned over the railing of the second floor landing. "Buffy?" He sounded pleased to see her, was smiling at her even. Angelus.

She raised the crossbow and fired, driving a bolt through his shoulder. Missed the heart. Meant to. A quick death was too good for him. He needed to feel the blows first, to see his death coming, and to know why.

"What was that for?" he asked, bewildered, grunting as he pulled the bolt from his shoulder.

His friends were coming towards her, as if any of them could stop a slayer. She was reloading the next bolt almost as soon as the last had flown. She was surprised to find that her voice didn't shake, that it was calm and unrushed. "You tortured Giles."

He stepped back, as if she had slapped him. She fired another bolt, and he caught it mid-flight, tossing it aside. "Yes, I did," he answered evenly.

Wesley reached her side and attempted to wrest the crossbow from her hands. She shoved him hard, holding nothing back, pulling no punches, and he sailed across the room.

She dropped the bow and charged up the stairs two at a time. Her feet touched the second floor landing, and she channeled her momentum into a flying leap kick that knocked Angel back into the wall. She advanced on him. "You broke his fingers." She backhanded her former lover. "You broke his ribs." Again. He landed on his knees. "You covered him in burns." She punched him, and his head jerked back with the hit. "You tore up his shoulders." She grabbed him by the front of his black shirt and hauled him to his feet, shoving him roughly against the wall. "Tell me you enjoyed it. I wanna hear you say it."

He met her eyes. "Of course Angelus enjoyed it. Every minute."

Oh, her rage was a living thing, throbbing in rhythm to her heart. Her hand reached for the stake inside her jacket, brandishing the weapon of her calling over the heart of her enemy.

"Buffy!" His eyes went wide with alarm, and he grabbed her wrist, arresting her blow before she could drive it home. "What are you doing?"

"My job. Take a beat to appreciate the synergy." She spun him out from the wall, their limbs locked together, stumbling, crashing through the balcony, landing in a tangled heap on the floor of the lobby below. She flipped to her feet, ready in battle stance. He mirrored her.

"Listen to me, Buffy. I'm sorry. I can't take it back. I wish I could. But it was a long time ago."

"Bored already? Moving on to the next bit of fun?" She swung, and he blocked. She kicked, and he sidestepped. Again and again. He didn't fight back, nor did he lie down and take it. Defense, but no offense, they danced. "I'm sorry if I can't move on quite as quickly as you, Angel, but they hadn't even finished patching him up yet when I left."

"What?"

Wesley, Gunn, and Fred tackled her, toppling her to the ground by sheer weight. "Get off of me!"

"Damn girl, I get that you got issues, but try wailing on a pillow or something 'fore you go all Xena-crazy-bitch." Gunn said before she sent him flying, crashing into Fred as he went.

Wesley she pinned with a steely gaze. "He turned, Wes. He's Angelus now, and I have to do this. I don't want to hurt any of you, so stay out of my way." She shoved him backwards, as if to demonstrate her resolve on this issue, and then pulled herself to her feet.

"I'm not Angelus," her ex protested, holding his hands out in a gesture of truce. "I'm still Angel."

"Then who left Giles in my bed?" Her eyes narrowed. "You bastard. The same pretty gift wrap you gave him for Jenny."

Angel continued waving his hands in front of him as he backed up a step. "I'm starting to get that something's happened to Giles, but I had nothing to do with it."

"He told me it was you, and I'm not buying your lies this time. I'm not waiting until you start killing my friends and trying to unleash hell on earth before I do what needs to be done. I understand now, like I didn't then. Angel's dead, and you're the thing that killed him."

She came at him again. He blocked some of her blows, others made it through. She might have been exhausted, sleep-deprived, crazy with grief, but she was still the Slayer, the Vampire Slayer, and stronger than him, a mere vampire. She drove the stake towards his chest, and he deflected the blow, turning with her momentum, using it to send her stumbling. She crashed into the weapons cabinet. Glass shattered at her feet. She reached one arm in and grabbed for the first thing she touched. She twirled the weapon in front of her, admiring its weight and balance. "Nice axe."

She swung at him. The blade grazed across his chest, drawing blood. Another red line across his arm. She could see that all of his focus was centered on dodging each swing. "You know you can't fight me like this, Angel. Come on, show it to me. I wanna see it. Show me your true self."

He rolled beneath the arc of her swinging axe, and came up behind her. He reached for and grabbed the wooden handle of her weapon, a hand to either side of her. He pulled them both backwards, the length of the axe's handle pressing beneath her chin and forcing her head back so they were cheek to cheek. She felt the cool breath of his voice whisper across her face. "If I were any other vampire, you'd be dead. You're upset and angry and not thinking clearly. You're fighting sloppy, taking stupid risks. You need to stop for a minute, Buffy. You need to cool down."

She held firm to the axe handle, bent over, and used her leverage to flip Angel. His back slammed hard to the floor, and he lost his grip on the axe. She adjusted her own grip, bringing the sharp blade to rest beneath his chin. "What I need… Just a sec, and I'm gonna get exactly what I need." She lifted the axe for the death blow, but before it could descend, she dropped the weapon behind her, arching her back as a crossbow bolt skewered her right shoulder.

She spun to see who had shot her. Fred, standing in the office doorway, gave her an embarrassed little wave before fleeing into Wesley's office.

Angel was standing when she faced him again. His eyes were focused on the protruding bolt, the spreading circle of red at her shoulder. She couldn't reach back and pull it out from behind, nor could she get a solid grip on the small point that came through the front. Her right fingers were going numb. Nothing for it. She would just have to fight one-handed. Cradling her arm against her chest, she gritted her teeth against the pain and slowly advanced on him. "Smell blood, do you? Your demon is just screaming at you to take a taste, isn't it? I wanna see him. I wanna see the demon. Show me the monster that tortured my husband."

With her left hand, she hauled back and hit him. Too preoccupied with the scent of her blood, he didn't block her.

The second strike he did block, holding her wrist suspended at the apex of her windup. She changed tactics and kneed him forcefully in the groin. He doubled over, releasing her arm.

"Show me your face, damn you!"

A left hook, filled with a woman's rage and a slayer's power, and she brought him to his knees. He spat blood and snapped his head up to look at her. He snarled, in full game face.

Buffy smiled, vindicated. "That's what I'm talking about, baby."

* * *

Cordelia groaned, one hand trying to keep her head from splitting in two and spilling her brains across the floor while the other hand valiantly scrabbled for the phone just out of reach. Her fingers touched a magazine that rested beneath the desired item, and she inched it closer to her, hoping to drag the phone closer as she did.

The phone toppled off the coffee table, landing on the side opposite her, putting it even further out of her reach. To make matters worse, the receiver had dislodged from the cradle and soon began beeping steadily, seemingly in rhythm with her throbbing head. She swore colorfully, a long string of obscenities that only Dennis would be unsurprised by.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and attempted to gather the strength to pull herself off the couch and crawl over to the phone.

She felt the receiver touch her fingers as it was placed in her hand. Not opening her eyes yet, she gave her roommate a faint smile. "_Finally_, Dennis. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Her eyes snapped open. A man was kneeling beside her. A strange man she didn't know. She would have jumped backwards, maybe vaulted over the back of the couch and made for the door, that is if any part of her body would cooperate with such a plan. But two visions in one day definitely vetoed any plan that didn't involve sleeping.

Seeming to sense her fear, he backed away slightly, sitting on the coffee table. "I'm Dennis," he told her softly.

"Ri-ight," she agreed. _Let's not provoke the crazy man who broke into your house_. "Sooo… whoever you are, do you mind if I make a quick call to my friends before you knock me out, rob me blind, or otherwise kill me?"

"I'm Dennis," he insisted again.

"Uh-huh," she agreed again, her fingers dialing the number for the Hyperion as her eyes remained focused on her uninvited guest.

Fred answered, handing the phone over to Wesley when Cordelia asked for him. He sounded distracted.

"So how'd the thing go? Did you get there before those kids woke the angry zoo monster?"

"I'm rather busy at the moment, Cordy. We'll talk when I get home."

"Wait!" she shouted before he could hang up. "I had another vision. Buffy's coming there to kill Angel. He should leave. Town. Like I hear China is nice this time of year."

She heard his laugh, dark and dry. When he spoke, he sounded entirely too blasé about the whole thing. "Really? Buffy's coming here to kill Angel? Well, that certainly explains the lunatic slayer currently trashing our lobby. Thanks for the heads up."

"She's there?"

"I believe I just said that. I really have to go now, Cordy. I'm trying to mix a tranquilizer capable of incapacitating a slayer with the few ingredients I happen to have lying around the office. I feel a bit like McGyver at the moment. Fred, no Fred, bottom drawer. I have a full set." His attention returned to her. "We're doing our best to stop her without getting our necks broke in the process. You just rest now and let us take care of this."

"That's just it, Wes. My vision. You don't have to stop Buffy. You have to stop _Angel_. He's going to kill her."

"Are you certain?"

"Uh… yeah. Got the sneak preview, remember?"

"All right. Rest, Cordy. Two visions in one day…"

"You don't have to tell me. It's _my_ head. Maybe the crook who broke into my apartment will be kind enough to bring me some painkillers before committing felony larceny and assault."

"Cordelia?"

"Nevermind. Good luck. See you later. Hopefully." She hung up and warily studied the man currently perched on the coffee table beside her.

"I _am_ Dennis," he insisted before she could say anything.

"Again I say: 'Uh-huh. Ri-ight. Sure. Whatever you say.' See, here's the thing: Dennis is dead. You don't look so dead to me. Plus, there's the whole I can see you thing, which is a dead giveaway that you're not Dennis."

"One time you stayed up all night to watch a Star Trek marathon."

"Xander got me hooked," she protested feebly.

"You eat frosting out of the can with your fingers, listen to Madonna's Evita while you clean house, and sometimes in the shower-"

"Okay, okay, so you're Dennis," she finally relented, and then paused thoughtfully as she studied him with new eyes. "Somehow I thought you'd be taller."

* * *

Chaos never fails. It is the one true god. It doesn't always give you what you want, what you've asked for, what you've prayed for. Ethan isn't so esoteric as to believe that it even gives you what you need. But it always gives you something. Something delightfully unexpected, deliciously unpredictable. As the world tries to bring order from chaos, chaos strikes back and tears things down. Science has already concluded that chaos will be the end of all things, entropy killing each star, felling each world from its orbit, the whole universe losing cohesion and expanding into nothingness. That makes Chaos the most potent force in all existence, more powerful than good or evil, right or wrong, and Ethan Rayne worshipped at that altar. As its servant, he found his prayers answered more often than those of the many misguided people who pray for order and meaning.

Gavin Parks walked through the doors of Lilah's office, as though delivered by the very hand of Chaos.

"Lilah isn't here?" he asked with a puzzled frown.

Willow was still tucked into herself on one end of the couch. Poor thing, still dwelling on whatever cruel torment had been heaped on Ripper's broad shoulders. Throwing herself a little pity party in honor of all the things they couldn't do from their 28th floor prison. Ethan nudged her gently to gain her attention. _Watch and learn, little grasshopper._

He smiled at Gavin. "No, she's gone."

A servant of Chaos has an eye for the great tapestry of life, understands the precarious balance involved between people, whether they are drawn together or forced apart, and knows just which threads to tug to unravel the whole sorry mess.

Ethan smiled at the lawyer who was firmly in the employ of darkness, whose eye was always cast towards the light, as if that were his only foe, but who was blind to the subtle gray of Chaos. Ethan would blindside him. "I believe she's gone to inspect her new office. Senior partners are impressed by her strategy. Seers smell the slayer's blood on the wind. Lilah smells promotion."

Pick, pick, pick. All the little buttons Lilah had pushed when the two rivals had argued in this office only a few hours before. Ethan worked those sore spots like punching in the access code on an electronic keypad. Three. Two. One. Freedom.

Less than ten minutes later, Ethan bestowed a gloating grin on his reluctant partner. They were standing on the sidewalk outside Wolfram and Hart, Willow desperately trying to hail a cab while he enjoyed a long awaited smoke. Gavin Parks had freed them, far more interested in Lilah's failure than his own success. A clever story about how he was only trying to ensure that Angel didn't get dusted, and Gavin might even be commended for his actions.

"We have to get there before one of them gets killed."

"And what are you going to do when you get there? Hmm?" He casually tossed aside his cigarette butt, letting it fall wherever it may. "How are you going to stop a death match between slayer and vampire?"

"Well, I… I'll…" she faltered, completely forgetting about the taxicab for the moment. She took a deep breath. "My… I could…"

Poor thing. Little bird whose wings were clipped, never remembering until it landed on the ground that it could no longer reach the sky. "Use your magic?"

She screwed her face up into an expression of determination. "No, I'll… I'll talk to them. Tell them it was really Darla."

"Right," he said, laughing. "Before or after they knock you across the room?"

A cab pulled up to the curb, the passenger window rolled down. The driver leaned over, asking them if they wanted a lift. Willow seemed torn. Ethan could feel her teetering on a precipice. Just a little push, and she would be closer to him and farther from Ripper. And it would seem so innocent, really.

He motioned for the driver to wait and closed the distance between himself and Willow. He brushed the hair back from her face, fire red like the magic he could feel boiling beneath the surface, and bent to whisper in her ear, "It's the only way to save Buffy. And wouldn't Giles want you to save her?" He called the man Giles, as the children did. But not children any longer.

She lifted her eyes to him, too ensnared by the choice before her to balk at his proximity. "You have magic. You could…"

"One of us needs to go back in for the ring. Need magic for that, too. 'Sides, what are the chances Buffy or Angel either one'd believe me? It's the only way to save her, Willow."

Who could resist their deepest, most selfish desire when offered to them wrapped in the rationalization of selflessness? She nodded decisively. "Okay, Ethan, do it."

"Really?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and licked her lips. "Just hurry up before I change my mind." The last poured from her mouth in a rush, belying her outer bravado.

He closed his eyes, senses reaching out to feel for the skeins of Ripper's magic. He gripped her shoulders as his mouth began mumbling incantations, searching for the key to her chains. He felt Ripper's magic ripple against his own and knew that he had nearly picked the lock. He pressed his lips to her forehead, the kiss not necessary for the magic, but when else would he have the chance to steal a taste of her?

Snap. Ripper's magic crumbled beneath his own, and she was free.

Ethan stepped away from her, smiling. What a glorious protégé she would make indeed. One finger tapped her beneath her chin, signaling that she could open her eyes.

"Fly, my little bird. You're free."

She did not seem as light as she should, but weighted down with guilt. How did Ripper engender such loyalty? He would need to free her of that as well, for why should she feel guilty for reclaiming what was always hers?

Willow climbed into the cab and was gone.

Ethan spun on his heel and headed towards the door he had exited only a few minutes before. Back into the lion's den. He murmured the words to the spell, becoming unnoticed and unacknowledged. Dimming, dimming, he marched through Wolfram and Hart's massive revolving glass door, past the security guard, and was gone.

* * *

Slayer and vampire were evenly matched. She no longer had him beat in strength and speed. The pain from her wounded shoulder and the necessity to fight one-handed handicapped her. If anything, he was gaining the upper hand on her, now that he had allowed the demon to rise to the surface. It was a mixed blessing. Seeing him in vamp face quieted any inner turmoil she might feel in fighting him. He _was_ Angelus, not Angel, when he showed her that face. On the other hand, he was stronger, no longer holding back, no longer trying to maintain the illusion for his friends that he was still Angel and would never intentionally harm her. In his yellow, demon eyes, she could see his bloodlust rising in proportion to her own.

_Lesson the first: a Slayer must always reach for her weapon. I've already got mine._

Angel had his, fists and fangs, while hers were on the other side of the lobby in the discarded duffel bag. She had clearly not thought this plan completely through. Every time she attempted to maneuver herself closer to her weaponry, he cut her off. She could fight hand-to-hand for as long as she had to. If she tired, she need only remember the sight of Giles' battered and broken body arranged in their bed, his small gasp of pain as they lifted him from bed to gurney, the doctor's face as he recited the list of injuries, before she found her second wind. Holding her ground was one thing, but she needed a weapon to have any prayer of finishing Angel.

They were locked together, each trying to topple the other's balance when it hit her. A small prick, not like the bolt from before. Her eyes flicked down quickly to find the dart sticking out from her thigh, its flights painted with the British flag. Wesley.

She couldn't feel the fingers of her right hand. Useless. The left was still grappling with Angel. Leaving her no hands to pull the dart from her leg. The room was starting to spin. Wesley must have dipped the tip in something potent, something fast acting. Her knees were already beginning to give out beneath her.

Holding tight to Angel, she pulled him down with her, landing on her back, the crossbow bolt driven further through her shoulder, a great crack as the end broke beneath her weight. She cried out with the pain, arching her head back, her good hand still twisted in the fabric of Angel's shirt.

Angel landed on top of her, his fangs so close to the neck that was quickly bared for him, the smell of slayer's blood hot in his nostrils, the siren call of his demon impossible to resist with the fog of bloodlust still upon him and the adrenaline of battle still in his veins.

Like that long ago night before graduation, before the Mayor's Ascension, when Buffy had tricked him into draining her, into taking the slayer's blood that would cure Faith's poison, by goading him into battle until the demon was in control and the man was a mere witness… The beast rose, and the man faded.

He sank his teeth into the scars he had left from that night and drank. He felt her struggle beneath him, but that seemed unimportant, far away, nothing like the heady taste of her warm blood across his tongue, driving out all human thought and leaving only the demon to savor the way each beat of her heart pumped another mouthful for him to swallow eagerly.

He dimly registered the others moving towards him, three heartbeats quickened by desperation. The demon inside him gloated that they had hesitated just a moment too long, that their movements were just a little too slow, that their pathetic mortal strength could not hope to wrest a vampire from its prey in mid-feed. The man inside him knew the demon was right.

Her struggles quieted, her form limp in his arms, and still he drank. The demon was never satisfied with stale blood, warmed in a microwave and sipped primly from a straw. This was what it hungered for: fresh blood, still tasting of life, coppery and sweet and tinged with fear, human blood, taken by force.

"Back!"

He was ripped from his prey by invisible hands, thrown backwards to slam into the wall, and pinned there by a foe he couldn't see. Panting, he shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Willow?"

She had stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Buffy.

Buffy… Oh, God, what had he done? He felt his features shift back to human, the horror of his actions sobering him out of his bloodlust and battle-induced stupor. He still had the taste of Buffy in his mouth.

"Is she…?"

Gunn and Fred were already at her side. Wesley was on the phone, and Angel's vampire hearing informed him that the man was calling for an ambulance.

"Her pulse is really weak," Fred advised him, her voice shaking with her concern. She pressed one hand over Buffy's shoulder, the other over her neck, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Gunn plucked the dart from her thigh.

Angel's eyes flitted desperately from one face to another. "I didn't mean to. I'd never… You have to believe me."

He felt Willow's spell release him, but the shock of his own actions held him immobile as surely as any magic.

Willow stepped closer, giving him a sympathetic head nod. "It's okay, Angel. We get it. Really. Wolfram and Hart set this all up. They stole the Ring of Gorlois, pretended to be you, kidnapped Giles, and pretty much convinced Buffy you were Angelus again by recreating all the bad stuff you did back then."

"Now, Angel." Wesley walked out from behind the front desk and joined the rest of the group in the center lobby. He was trying to be the voice of reason, perhaps trying to prevent another descent into darkness like the one after Drusilla turned a resurrected and human Darla before she could earn her redemption and his. Perhaps Wesley was right to worry. Angel was feeling the urge to lock a bunch of Wolfram and Hart lawyers in a room with a vampire. Only this time, he'd like to be that vampire.

"Let's think this through calmly," Wesley insisted. "Gather all the facts before charging off on a rampage."

Angel focused on Buffy, lying there, unconscious, bleeding, possibly dying because of him. He listened for her heartbeat: weak, slowing. He had drained her nearly to the point of death. Another second and she might have died in his arms. "If she dies, they die. Every last one of them. And you won't be able to stop me."

"You do that, and they win. You'll have given yourself over to the darkness." Wesley paused significantly, his face grim. "Angel, you won't be able to come back from it this time."

"I won't want to."

Willow laid her hand against his bicep, and he looked at her, bracing himself for whatever speech she was about to offer him to change his mind, whatever words she had planned about his higher purpose and the city of people who still needed his help, prepared himself to hear her say, _This isn't what Buffy would have wanted._ As if she was already dead. As if he had already killed her. What Willow said, however, was unexpected.

"You want something to kill? Kill Darla. She's the one who was wearing the ring, who tortured Giles, who set Buffy up to come after you. She's expecting you, I think. Expecting you to join up with her again, not to kill her. Find Darla, and beat the crap outta her, whatever dark, twisted things you want to do to those lawyers. Get it all out of your system, and then stake her."

That seemed like a sensible plan. Far better than Wesley's "wait around and do nothing" approach.

Angel strode out of the Hyperion, grabbing Buffy's duffel bag as he went. He assumed she had packed weapons enough to kill vampires, hopefully weapons suitable for a slow and painful end. Holy water. Crosses. Buffy had mentioned once how she had beheaded a vampire with an Exact-o knife. Maybe he would try that. Angel was also remembering the time she had stuffed a crucifix down a vampire's throat until it revealed the location of her captured friends. That would be satisfying. After all, Darla was definitely a screamer.

And then there were the things he had done as Angelus, things he had done with Darla. Now he would do them _to_ her. He hoped she would enjoy the irony. She had always appreciated a sick sense of humor.

Darla wanted her darling boy back, and she would have him.

Next: Chapter 7: Mending


	7. Mending

ORIGINALLY POSTED: October 27, 2002  
TITLE: The Fine Art of Blackmail  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Family Business, Giles and Buffy have their daughter back and are running the Council, but will Wolfram and Hart use Giles' past sins to destroy the life they've built?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 7: Mending

"Buffy?" Willow hesitated in the doorway, as if she were a vampire who needed an invitation.

They'd had the talk, and Buffy'd had the rest of the night and now most of the morning for everything to sink in. She'd almost killed Angel. Not Angelus, but Angel. Not to save the world, but because she'd let her emotions get the better of her, deluded herself into thinking it was a slayer mission and not a personal vendetta, stormed off without a plan or even all the information. Played by Wolfram and Hart. That stung, too.

She had dreamt about Acathla all night. Only this time, the portal wasn't opening behind Angel when she drove the sword through his belly. His hand reached out for hers, shock and betrayal in his eyes, and then… _then_ the portal opened behind him, wider and wider, sucking them all in. She had opened the gates to hell with Angel's blood and damned them all.

"Buffy?" Willow asked again. Why couldn't she just leave her alone? Why couldn't they all just leave her alone? Wesley and Cordelia, Gunn and Fred, some guy named Dennis who the others kept sneaking glances at. They had all visited her hospital room, bearing flowers and obnoxiously cheerful balloons, and made nice, bland conversation, as if she hadn't tried to kill their friend the night before. As if some of them weren't sporting bruises because of her.

"There's someone here to see you."

And she knew who that would be. Everyone else could ask for themselves. Only one person required someone else to announce their presence.

"I don't want to see him right now."

"I don't think he'll go away until you do." Willow didn't seem to be listening to the "I don't want to see him" part of what she'd just said, because her friend entered her hospital room anyway. (Dammit, why didn't people need invitations, too? So much simpler that way.). Willow turned the blinds for each window, shutting out the sun, and then left.

_Could have at least stayed. Not abandoned me to do this alone._

Angel waited in the hall, framed by the doorway. He didn't actually need an invite, as the hospital was public domain. Or did he? She _was_ technically living and sleeping here at the moment. She'd have to ask Giles about that later.

"Come in, Angel."

He stood awkwardly next to her bed for a moment, neither of them sure what to say. Angel finally broke the silence, which must have been a first, because under normal circumstances, he would win any kind of a brooding contest.

"I brought you a get well present."

"I'm almost all better, actually. Slayer healing."

"Still, I think you'll like it. Hold out your hands."

Reluctantly, she did as asked. He reached into one coat pocket and then pulled out his closed fist, the other hand quickly cupping beneath it. He opened his hands over hers, a dark powder sifting through his fingers into hers.

"Darla," he told her simply.

"Ewww," she answered, her nose scrunching up. "You couldn't bring me flowers? A little Hallmark card: 'p.s. I killed Darla.' Somebody's ashes… not exactly a pick-me-up."

"I thought you'd feel better knowing."

"I should, I guess, but…"

"You wanted to do it yourself."

Their eyes met. Angel knew her almost as well as Giles. "Yeah." Buffy studied the fine dust in her hands, some of it floating through her fingers or teased by a breath of air to land like little specs across the hospital sheets. She focused on the dust in her hands and wondered if it had hurt, if he had broken her first, if he had snapped her fingers and cracked her ribs and poured holy water down her chest. Buffy hoped he had, and she wondered if that made her a terrible person. She'd killed vampires before, but she'd never tortured them without reason, for pleasure, for payback.

She emptied her hands into the trash can and brushed them off. "Okay, gross. Again, chocolate: always a welcome get well gift."

"Buffy," his voice was so serious, she looked up. He always stared into her eyes with such intensity. She remembered in high school, how it had made her feel like the only person in the world. "You hated me before, when you thought I had…" He paused, as if searching for the words. "Buffy, you do know that I did those things to Giles, right?"

"When you were Angelus."

He nodded, accepting that distinction reluctantly. "But I also have to share some of the blame for what Darla did this time. I could have killed her, but I didn't. I… I just wanted to feel something besides the cold. It's not an excuse, I know."

The realization hit her like a sucker punch. "You slept with her." It shouldn't bother her like this. She was married, had children, slept in another man's arms every night. But Angel was her first love, and because of his gypsy curse, she had never had to imagine him with anyone else.

"It was a long time ago, Buffy. Everything had lost meaning. But when I woke up beside her, I realized I was in danger of losing my soul again, not from happiness, but from apathy. She saved me, and for that, I let her live, let her walk away, and never tried to hunt her down again. If I had… Giles wouldn't…"

"No." Her eyes filled with tears, a few stray drops escaped down her cheeks. "If what Darla did to Giles is in any way your fault, then… then Ms. Calendar is my fault, too. Because I couldn't kill you when I had the chance."

"No. Don't even think that."

She sniffled and wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her hospital gown. "I won't if you won't."

A ghost of a smile lifted his lips. "Deal." He placed his hand over hers. "Friends?"

"Always. You think I'm gonna let a bunch of evil lawyers mess with my head and get the best of me? Nope. They've got another think coming. We're good here."

Angel leaned forward and placed a cool kiss on her brow before leaving her alone. She maintained her composure until she was sure he was far enough away that his vampire hearing wouldn't overhear her tears. Then she cried and cried; she couldn't stop. She wasn't entirely sure why she was crying, just a vague sense that things would never be the same. The extreme lack of sleep and whatever the doctors had given her for her shoulder might also be contributing factors. All she knew was that she was sobbing into her hospital pillow as if her heart was breaking, so desperately homesick that it was an actual physical ache in the pit of her stomach. She wanted go home to Sunnydale. She wanted Giles to be there waiting for her, not lying in his own hospital bed, wanted everything to be the way it was before, before last night, before last week, before the blackmail and the torture. But she knew that it would never, never be the same again.

* * *

"You sure you're good to go? They don't want to keep you longer?"

Buffy had arrived at the Sunnydale hospital to find Giles dressed and waiting to be released. She hadn't been very surprised.

"Of course they'd like to keep me longer. I, however, don't wish to stay."

They stood beside each other, not touching, but comfortably positioned in each other's personal space.

"Maybe if they want you to stay… Maybe they know a little bit more about medicine than you do. I mean, I don't remember ever seeing D-R in front of your name."

He sighed and held her gaze for a moment before he spoke. His eyes looked so hollow, so tired, like coal painted beneath them. He couldn't have slept very well last night. "Buffy, I have done this before. After… A-acathla… I was at school the next day."

"I remember. It didn't look so bad standing across the street. Just…" Her fingers reached out to lightly brush over the metal finger-splints, then up to gently touch the cut on his forehead. "Seeing it up close this time… Was it this bad before?"

"Nearly so." He gestured helplessly with his two useless hands. "Although Angelus at least left me with one good hand."

"I wish I'd been there for you."

"You're here now."

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have gone."

"Then or now?"

Her eyes snapped up to his. And her watcher was reading her with the same scrutiny he showed any of his ancient tomes. He nodded when he found his answer.

"You were gone when I woke. I suspected."

"I told you: Willow figured out that it was Darla, and Angel staked her. I wasn't in on that little hunt."

He wasn't fooled by her cool denial. He glanced away, finding his uneaten breakfast tray incredibly interesting. "You could have gotten yourself killed, running off after Angel in a temper. I should know. I did the same after Jenny."

The doctor came in at that moment with the final paperwork, saving Buffy from any further scolding.

"So, Mr. Giles, tired of our hospital-ity already?" The doctor laughed at his own pun. "Let's just go over a few things first, shall we? You'll need to keep those ribs taped for at least the next three weeks. Will you be able to do that?"

"I can help," Buffy offered.

The doctor frowned at her. "The dressing on your burns will need to be changed twice a day to prevent infection."

"I can do that, too."

The doctor seemed displeased with her answer, and his frown deepened. Obviously, the point of his discharge instructions was to convince his patient that he wasn't ready to be discharged. "Avoid overextending those shoulders or lifting anything with them; they'll be easier to dislocate until they've healed properly."

"I got it covered, Doc. No lifting. No reaching." Buffy was not helping the doctor's cause.

The doctor crossed his arms over his clipboard and gave them each a level stare. "You may find simple tasks more challenging with ten splinted fingers."

Buffy crossed her arms as well, doing the best a girl her height can do to look intimidating. She may have agreed with the doctor at the moment about Giles not being ready to go home, but if he wanted to check himself out against medical advice, then by God, she was going to stand by her man. "Whatever he needs me to do, I can do."

"Very well. Sign here, Mr. Giles, and you are free to go." The doctor thrust the clipboard in front of Giles, and he automatically reached for the proffered pen, realizing at the last moment that he had no way of holding the writing instrument in his hand. The doctor smiled smugly, having just illustrated his point. Buffy grabbed for the clipboard and signed, smiling back equally smugly, having just illustrated hers.

They left, walking side by side down the hospital hallway. "Thank you."

She shrugged. "It's what we do for each other. In sickness and in health."

"Yes, well… I don't think I could have stayed in that room another minute. It will feel good to be home again. I thought about it sometimes, about you and the children, when…" He swallowed and took a deep breath that made him wince. "It-it made things more bearable."

Silence until they'd nearly reached the parking lot, a slow steady pace that still forced him to curl one arm across his chest in support of his ribs. He was limping slightly, distinctly favoring one leg over the other.

She offered him her shoulder to lean on. "Giles, why are you limping?"

"Do you really want to know?"

No, she supposed she didn't. He accepted her offer of support, and she took some of his weight as they continued on. She gasped slightly as he leaned too hard on her injured shoulder, reminding her that slayer healing or no, getting skewered by a crossbow bolt would take some time to heal.

Giles stopped where he was, turning to examine her with his eyes. "You're hurt."

She shrugged, trying to brush it off. "If we're comparing war wounds here, I think you win."

And then his hand reached out towards her neck, the metal splints on each finger clicking together as he awkwardly tried to touch the scarf she had tied around her neck. She tugged on one end and allowed the scarf to fall free, letting him see the bite marks.

He sucked in a painful breath. "Oh, Buffy, why didn't you say anything?"

"No big, Giles. Really, I'll be fine. Unlike _some_ people, the doctor said it was okay for me to go home." She switched to the other side of him, offering him her good shoulder to lean on. "We should really get moving again, 'cause at this pace, we'll get to the car sometime tomorrow."

"You could have pulled up to the curb for me." He thankfully let the previous topic drop, although she wasn't so naive as to think they wouldn't be having a conversation about it later.

"Yeah, if I was smarter and not so distracted by my watcher getting tortured and nearly killed. Come on, we're almost there now anyway."

She paused before opening the passenger side door for him. She looked up at the mid-morning sun shining brightly in the sky. "Doesn't seem like the sun should be out today. Too cheerful. Feels like it should be dark and rainy."

He looked up into the clear, blue sky as well. "Day four."

She gripped the car door tighter. She hadn't thought about it, not since finding him in their bed. "Giles, you don't really think they'll take you away tomorrow? I mean, they got the ring back. Not from us, but still… They got what they wanted and did what they wanted with it. They won't turn you in tomorrow, will they?"

"I don't know what to expect, Buffy. It's still a possibility." He sighed. "Lilah's plan backfired, and she may be in a mood to lash out. I may be a convenient target. We should be prepared."

She understood then why he was so desperate to leave the hospital and go home. He believed it might be his last chance.

The children were happy to see their parents, but they stood at polite attention to either side of their babysitter, whereas the expected greeting would have usually involved them clattering full speed down the stairs and tackling the new arrivals in enthusiastic hugs. Buffy explained to her confused husband, "Marianne and I decided that a 'look but don't touch' policy should be in effect for a few days."

The children climbed into her arms eagerly when she offered, and she held them up one at a time to give their father a careful kiss on the cheek before sending them off to play.

She pointed at Giles firmly. "Food for you. No arguments. And no complaining about what I fix. You're at my mercy until you can make your own."

They passed through the dining room, Willow sitting at the dining table, so engrossed in her laptop that she seemed oblivious to their whole arrival. Buffy bent close and whispered, "Boo!"

Willow jumped half out of her chair, glaring then after she caught her breath. She whacked her friend on the arm, and the slayer feigned pain.

"Whatcha got?" Buffy asked, leaning over to peek at the computer screen.

"Stuff I emailed myself from Lilah's office. Inside stuff from Wolfram and Hart." Her eyes slid past Buffy to find Giles, and she fidgeted in her seat as she took in his appearance. "Hey, Giles. You okay?"

"I've had better days," he tossed back lightly.

"Maybe this will help: I got some real dirt off Lilah's computer, stuff she wouldn't want anyone to know about. Wolfram and Hart would have her hide… and I mean literally." Her nose crinkled up in disgust. "There's a Baktar demon running Accounting who collects the skins of disgraced lawyers as wall hangings." She swiveled the monitor so he could get a closer look. "If the firm knew about this, I guarantee they'd be adding to his collection."

Giles pursed his lips thoughtfully as he skimmed over this new information. "So a stalemate then?"

"Good news, right?"

Buffy smiled brightly and wrapped her friend in a warm hug. "Best I've had all day."

But Giles didn't seem as happy as he should. Maybe being tortured put a damper on his party spirit. Or maybe it had something to do with the way he and Willow were staring at each other, a thick silence building between them like a developing storm front, a palpable tension Buffy hadn't witnessed in months.

Willow didn't break eye contact with him, just patted Buffy gently on the arm and asked, "Could you give me a moment alone with Giles?"

Buffy glanced over to Giles first, seeking his permission, which he gave with a curt little nod. She slipped out to the kitchen, ostentatiously to fix Giles breakfast, but unable to resist a little eavesdropping as long as she was there.

* * *

In the staring contest, it was Willow who dropped her eyes first. In the animal world, wasn't that a show of submission? She was sure she'd seen that on the Discovery Channel.

"How?" he asked simply.

She had expected him to sense it the moment he saw her. He could probably feel the lingering traces of the magic she'd already done, the spell to knock Angel away from Buffy, the spell to keep Buffy stable on the seemingly endless ambulance ride, to keep her breathing and her heart beating until they could get her to the hospital. Willow had never doubted that Giles would realize his spell was broken. And so knowing that, it seemed like she should have had something prepared to say.

She floundered for a moment before beginning the story at the beginning.

"I had this idea for blackmailing Lilah, and it was a really good idea, only it needed someone they wouldn't recognize and… and the ring. So I tracked down-" She swallowed nervously, and her voice got very quiet. "Ethan Rayne."

Giles' face was expressionless, and she started babbling to fill the silence. "'Cause Wolfram and Hart wouldn't recognize him, and it would have totally worked if we hadn't gotten captured and Wolfram and Hart hadn't gotten the ring, but we escaped in the nick of time, and I stopped Angel from killing Buffy and got the blackmail on Lilah after all, so it kinda worked out in the end, except for the part where you got tortured again, and I'm _so_ sorry, Giles."

"So it was Ethan who freed your magic?"

"Yeah, but not right away. He wanted to, but I wouldn't let him. I wanted… wanted you to think I was ready for it. But then Ethan had to break your spell so I could save Buffy."

He nodded thoughtfully and lowered himself into a chair. "And where is Ethan in all of this?"

"He went back to get the ring from Wolfram and Hart. But it's okay, Giles, 'cause he's on our side now. I think he wanted to make things up to you just like I did."

"Ethan is never on anyone's side but his own. You mustn't forget that, Willow."

She dropped her eyes, suitably chastised. "Are you mad? Disappointed?"

He sighed, and she wasn't exactly sure what kind of a sigh it was, only that she wasn't looking forward to the words that would follow it. "You were attempting to prevent me from going to trial for murder. I would say that in this particular instance, I'm hardly in a position to take the moral high ground with you."

"You could do the spell again if you wanted, when you're feeling better. I would let you."

Their eyes met, and he asked her very seriously, "Do you think I should?"

"No." She straightened her spine, unsure where this sudden rush of confidence was coming from. "I think you should have lifted the spell a long time ago. I made a mistake, and I learned my lesson, and I've been doing everything I can to make up for it. But the thing is that I _can't_ ever make up for it, and I get that. I hurt you, and all those slayers… all those watchers… they're all dead, and I can't make any of it right again. I can't fix it or make it better, not even with magic. So I've been working hard at what I _can_ do: studying, teaching, helping the girls at the sorority, volunteering at the shelter in LA, doing whatever research you want me to do here. It's not enough, won't _ever_ be enough, but it's all I got."

She took a deep breath, couldn't believe she was saying all of this, but it kept tumbling out. "Now if you don't think I deserve my magic back, fine, you can take it. But Buffy would have died last night if Ethan hadn't broken your spell. And sooner or later it'll happen again, not the same exact thing, but… Giles, I don't want my magic back for me. I mean, it was nice, and I miss it sometimes, but now I'm a little afraid of it too, and I'll always think about… about Tara. So I'd be okay if I never did another spell the rest of my life, but someday someone's going to need my magic. And if someone dies because I couldn't save them, because you had my power all locked away, isn't that just as bad as everything I did when I had magic?"

"You're right."

"I am?"

"You can't balance the scale, Willow, and that's a hard lesson to learn. Maybe I should have given you a chance to prove yourself before now, but I think you've earned your second chance." He paused, worry lines creasing his forehead. "Promise me? That you'll think twice before you touch your power? That if you have doubts or concerns, you'll come to me?"

"I will."

"You should have come to me before involving Ethan. You can't trust him, Willow. I know you meant well, that you wanted to help me, but he's extremely dangerous."

She didn't know what compelled her to defend Ethan. Maybe it was the way he had so gallantly rescued her purse from that pickpocket and walked her to her hotel with one arm wrapped protectively around her. Or maybe it was the way he had encouraged her to cry on his shoulder after learning about Giles' torture. There had been moments when Ethan seemed so kind. Surely he couldn't have faked them all.

"I know he does bad things sometimes, Giles, but other times… I could kind of see why you were friends with him."

Ah, she hit a nerve. Giles laughed bitterly and shook his head. "Ethan appealed to a side of me you wouldn't wish to see, a side of me that, frankly, is responsible for this whole blackmail mess in the first place. It was wrong to have Longsworth and Sulla killed. I knew it, and I did it anyway, and that is the man that Ethan was friends with."

"Maybe." Willow leaned forward and rested her hand over his wrist. "Maybe that's a tiny part of who you are. But for the most part, you're a good guy, and maybe, just maybe, _that_ part of you appealed to a side of Ethan you never gave him a chance to show."

Giles was quiet for a moment, and then he laid his own hand, with its five metal splints, over her own. "Be careful, Willow. That's all I'm saying."

* * *

"A _movie_?" Cordelia planted her hands on her hips. "You've been dead for half a century, and you want to spend what could possibly be your last hours outside the apartment at a _movie_? Where's your sense of adventure, Dennis? Parachuting, hang gliding, mountain climbing? You're already dead, not like you have to worry about getting deader. But, no. Thrill seeker that you are, decides on Imax."

"They didn't have screens that big when I was alive," he protested. "And surround sound, THX… Your TV's so small, Cordelia. Can we just go? The two of us, like you promised?"

"Fine. But afterwards, I'm taking you to Caritas."

She saw it again, that guilty look that flashed across his face. All day, she'd gotten the feeling he was keeping something from her, usually whenever she mentioned the spell wearing off and him being stuck as a ghost in her apartment again. She'd figured that he just didn't want to be reminded of it, but now she got the same nervous glance away when she mentioned Caritas, too.

"Okay, you've only had facial expressions for like two days now, but I'm starting to get the hang of reading them, and that, Mister, is the 'I have a secret' expression. As former Gossip Queen of Sunnydale High, I'd know that look on anyone's face. So 'fess up."

"I already went to Caritas. That first night."

"Oh." She deflated somewhat. "Okay."

"I sang."

She felt an unexpected pang of disappointment that she'd missed it. "What'd you sing?"

His lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile. "Doesn't matter."

She batted at him playfully. "Come on, can't be any worse than me singing 'Greatest Love of All' for my high school talent show, and I didn't even have the excuse of getting my future read back then. What'd you sing?"

"Billy Joel." He finally gave in to the smirk. "'Only the Good Die Young.'"

They laughed together for a moment before she asked the inevitable question. "What did the Host tell you?"

The smile died on his lips. "That I'm ready to move on. I… I won't be coming back here when the spell wears off, Cordelia. I'm sorry."

"Oh." She tried to plaster on a fake smile. He was watching her, all concerned, and she didn't want him to worry about her. "Don't be sorry, Dennis. Good for you. Moving on to another plane of existence… 'cause in my experience, this one usually sucks." She sniffled slightly. "We'll be fine, and it'll be nice to have the apartment to myself for a change. And honestly, Wesley's always a little weirded out when we, you know, _do_ anything here." She blinked away tears. "We'll be fine. I mean, it's not like I can miss someone who I can't even see or talk to, right?"

A few Kleenex found their way into her hands, and she started balling. "See? This is what I'm going to miss. You always know just how to take care of me. You've been like the best roommate ever!"

He touched her softly on the shoulder. "Cordelia? Let's go to the movie."

"Is it a tearjerker?" She wiped away the smears of mascara. "'Cause I'm strangely in the mood for a good old fashioned, high tissue count, chick flick."

They walked out of the apartment together. "I guarantee someone dies before it ends."

* * *

Giles sensed that someone had entered his bedroom. The painkillers muddled his thoughts, even at half the recommended dose, but he was still alert enough to know he wasn't alone. He opened his eyes, and turned his head.

"Hello, Robin."

She was studying him intently, her brother lurking just outside in the hall. She tentatively reached her fingers out to hover over his. "What those?" she asked, almost afraid to touch the splints.

"My fingers are broken," he answered evenly. "The doctor put these on to keep them still until they're better."

Alex took a few cautious steps into the bedroom. Robin dared to climb onto the bed beside her father, sitting cross-legged at his side. She touched her finger to the cut at his forehead. "Owie."

"Yes, I'm afraid I accumulated quite a few 'owies' yesterday. But I'm going to be fine."

Giles sought out his son, still lingering just inside the doorway. The child looked haunted. They both did. Giles didn't want his children to see him like this, battered, hurting, but unless he'd rather lock himself away until he'd healed, there was no preventing it.

His attention was on Alex when he first felt it. A warming sensation across his chest, spreading out, radiating down into his arms, not uncomfortable or painful, just warm like the afternoon sun. His fingers tingled. He blinked quickly, everything spinning, the drugs in his system dulling his thoughts, slowing his reactions. He felt magic wrapping itself around him, the touch of it bright and clear, not fire like Willow's or shadow like Ethan's or granite like his own, but sunlight and air.

"Alex?" The boy was watching him so intently, and Sabrina had said that the child would have magic to equal his father's.

But whatever potential his son had, it was still buried beneath Giles' sight.

And so his eyes returned to his daughter, sitting beside him, her hand resting on his chest. Robin's magic rolled off of her, soft waves that rippled outwards in ever widening circles, like raindrops across a still lake. Each pulse filled him, healed him, made him dizzy with the beauty and the power of it. His daughter's magic was not something she did, but rather something she was, not a choice made, or a spell invoked, but an instinct yielded to, as natural and subconscious as breath. She loved him, and she touched him, and the magic became an extension of that love and that touch.

Robin was crying, silent tears running down her cheeks, her chin quivering, the fear unmistakable in her eyes. She didn't understand what was happening to her, to them. Giles tried to push her away, but he was so weak after his ordeal, and the magic was exhausting him further, forcing him down into a healing sleep.

She took a shaking breath, and blood spilled out her nose, two rivers running down her face, dripping down her chin. She cried harder. Alex ran out of the bedroom, and Giles, terrified, shouted, "Buffy!"

Thunder pounding up the stairs, the bedroom door banging hard into the wall as Buffy came bursting into the room. Giles fought to keep his eyes open and demanded of his wife, "Get her away. Don't let her touch me."

Buffy snatched Robin from the bed, the spell immediately broken with the loss of contact. The child's silence was broken as well, and Robin's keening wails reverberated off the walls.

"Her nose is bleeding. She's shaking. Giles, what do I do?"

The girl burrowed into her mother's arms, hands clutching her head, blood and tears staining Buffy's shirt.

"Get Willow." It was all he had energy for. He managed those two words, and then everything went black.

* * *

Willow hadn't moved from the couch in more than three hours, her laptop long forgotten on the dining table, her fingers never pausing in their rhythmic stroking of Robin's hair. The little girl had fallen asleep with her head in Willow's lap, and no one had wished to disturb her. At first her breathing had maintained that hiccupy sigh standard for any child who had cried themselves to sleep, but now it had evened out into a more peaceful slumber.

The room was silent, the world on pause, as everyone watched the little girl sleeping.

"You should get lots of fire extinguishers," Anya warned Buffy. "She could be like that little girl from 'Firestarter': make her mad and spontaneous combustion." She frowned. "You aren't planning to bring her into the store anytime soon, are you?"

Buffy sighed. "Robin's not going to turn into a little pyro, okay?"

Xander was seated on the floor between Anya's knees, leaning back against the chair she was sitting in as she massaged his neck and shoulders. He studied the sleeping girl thoughtfully. "I don't know, Buff. She kinda looks like Drew Barrymore."

Willow brushed a lock of hair from Robin's forehead, feeling the need to defend her. "Maybe cute Drew Barrymore from 'ET.' Not freaky Firestarter Drew."

Giles made his appearance then, ending the teasing banter as soon as everyone had noticed him standing at the bottom of the staircase. He looked much better. A three-hour nap had done him a world of good. That, and Robin's magic.

Buffy was at his side in a moment, worrying over his injuries. The finger-splints were gone, and he flexed his hands to demonstrate their range of motion. "Still a little sore, but functional."

His eyes focused on Robin. "How is she?"

Willow shrugged. "Achy head, nosebleed. I remember vividly how I used to get when I tried stuff that was too advanced for me. She'll probably have some headaches and be crabby for a few days, but she should be fine. We gave her some children's Tylenol, and that seemed to help."

He came closer, kneeling in front of the couch. He was still limping a little, and gingerly touched his chest as he settled himself on the ground in front of his daughter. Obviously, he was not completely healed, but Robin had definitely given him a short cut on the road to recovery.

He reached towards her and then seemed to reconsider, his hand hovering just above her cheek. "I'm afraid to touch her."

"It's okay, Giles," Willow encouraged him softly. "You can't hurt her."

He smiled at her gratefully and rested his hand on top of his daughter's head. Buffy came to stand behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

"This isn't normal, is it, Giles?" Buffy asked. "For her to have magic at her age? She seems awfully young."

"She _is_ too young. Those who are extremely gifted can sometimes sense a child's potential for magic, but that potential is never accessible until at least adolescence, and even then, usually not fully realized until early adulthood. And yet…" He withdrew his hand from Robin's head and looked at his fingers, curling them in and then out. "And yet here is the proof of it."

"What do we do?" Buffy sounded so lost, out of her element when dealing with magic.

But Willow understood what had to be done. She remembered the mistakes and the poor choices she had made while learning to control her own power, and she'd been in high school and college then. Robin was not equipped yet to handle her gifts; she was far, far too young. She could hurt herself or others, either unintentionally or during a preschool tantrum.

Willow shared a look with Giles. He understood the situation as well as she and had drawn the same conclusion. He had probably sensed right away that Willow had worked her own magic on Robin earlier, meant only as a temporary fix until they determined a more lasting solution. As Willow looked into Giles' eyes, there was no discussion necessary to agree on that solution.

"Will it hold?" he asked her.

She considered the irony, that she would be the one to seal away this little girl's magic so soon after being freed from the same spell herself. "I already did the spell, just a temporary kind of ward. As long as she doesn't try to fight it, it'll hopefully hold until I can get supplies from the Magic Box. If you're serious about making the wards last… I should be able to cast something strong enough to hold for as long as you need. Might knock me off my feet for a few days, but hey… Robin and I can be the Migraine Twins."

Willow looked down at the sleeping girl still draped half across her lap. "She's so strong, Giles. It was like a dam burst, and I was trying to push all the water back with my bare hands. I'm only guessing here, but it wasn't like that with me, was it?"

"No." They had never really spoken of it since that day in the hospital. It was the topic that just wasn't discussed, the silence that fell between their words. And now, this made two whole conversations in the same day. It felt good though, that they could finally talk about it. Giles sighed and pulled off his glasses, his eyes focusing inward in remembrance. "In your case, I had intimate knowledge of your magic."

Willow felt the familiar rush of shame at the memory of using her power against Giles, but she resisted the urge to look away. He lost that faraway expression and focused on her, as if also unwilling to allow himself any kind of emotional distance, forcing himself to replace his glasses and look at her as they discussed what they had avoided for so long.

"I was familiar enough with your power to know the size and shape of it, if you will, to know… to know just what kind of a cage to build for it." He swallowed and shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Willow. I think that right now is the first I've realized… You've been ready for quite a while, and I… I think at some point my spell became less about protection than punishment."

She could feel the tears welling up. She tried to keep her voice level. "I didn't care about that so much as… I just wanted you to forgive me."

"Oh, Willow." He sat up on his knees and pulled her into a warm embrace. Willow closed her eyes, feeling even lighter than when Ethan had freed her magic. Giles gasped slightly, and she realized she was holding him too tightly, not because of slayer strength, for which Buffy was guilty on occasion, but because his chest still hurt him. She relaxed her grip, but he continued to hug her just as fiercely, ignoring his own pain.

Applause behind them broke them apart, each of them blushing at having forgotten their audience.

Their sudden movement jostled Robin enough to stir her from her slumber as well, and they each laid a soothing hand on her to settle her back to sleep.

"Does this mean Willow will be a watcher now?" Anya asked. "Because, honestly, if I were in her place, knowing how much money you're sitting on, I wouldn't do as much work as she does for free."

Giles laughed. "If she would like, we can make it official."

He was looking at her when he said it, and Willow felt herself tearing up all over again. She didn't care about the money or the title, she only cared that by inviting her into the Watcher's Council, he was inviting her back into his trust. She nodded, accepting his offer, and a few tears slipped down her cheeks despite her best efforts to hold them back. He dried them off with the back of his hand.

Willow ducked her head shyly, her eyes coming to rest on the little girl still sleeping in her lap. She thought about what needed to be done. In times past, she would have been arrogant enough to think she could do it on her own, powerful mega-witch Willow with her occasional sidekick Tara, vain enough to think that she could beat a hellgod in a show of power, conceited enough to believe that the Watcher's Council cared what kind of spells she did or would waste their time having Giles spy on her, arrogant enough to think that she had power over life and death, that she could have saved her beloved. But hard won wisdom made it very plain to her that this was not about proving herself, not about redeeming herself in Giles' eyes, not about showing off her newly restored power. This was about making sure little Robin stayed safe. And so Willow would ask for help, would admit weakness.

"We should do the spell together, Giles, if we want to be sure it holds."

He nodded. Cages and walls and doors without locks. She had built him a prison out of darkness, and he had built her one of shame, and together they would fashion Robin one of something else.

"So you two are going to lock Robin's magic away?" Buffy summarized, wanting to be clear on the plan.

"Until she's older," Giles qualified, twisting slightly to look up at her. "Until she can safely learn to control it."

She glanced off to the side, towards the dining room. "If she has it… then maybe Alex…"

Giles and Willow both looked in the same direction as Buffy.

"Alex?" Giles called.

The boy emerged from the kitchen, pausing in the foyer. Marianne followed him a moment later, his attentive shadow. She was holding Xander and Anya's baby against her hip, doing double babysitting duty as she often did.

"Help feed Zoey," Alex informed them all proudly, lisping a little on the "z."

"Come here, son." Giles motioned the boy closer, and he obediently hopped over to the couch, sparing a concerned glance for his sister.

Giles took Alex by his shoulders, studying him intently. Willow could feel the soft flicker of Giles' magic, and it still had the ability to catch her off guard after having lived more than six months without. He turned to her then, asking her silently. She shook her head; she sensed nothing from the boy either. Then again, Robin had taken them completely by surprise.

"Maybe we should do him, too," Willow suggested. "Just in case."

"No harm in it, I suppose," Giles conceded reluctantly.

"Will it stop his dreams, too?" Buffy asked. "Are those magic?"

Giles frowned, and brushed his fingers across his son's cheek. Alex tried to wriggle away, so Giles turned his loving caress into a playful tickle. His son giggled. "I don't know, Buffy. We can certainly hope. I can't imagine his dreams are easy for him to deal with, especially considering the kinds of things he tends to foresee. Yet even so, he remains happy and cheerful most of the time. His dreams, thankfully, don't appear to be doing any lasting damage."

"He saw you," she said quietly. "He told me Angel was hurting you. I thought… thought he just meant a vampire. I didn't really think of Angel until…" She stopped and took a deep breath. "He saw everything, Giles."

Alex shook his head. "Not Uncie Angel. Just look like." He reached out curious fingers to touch his father's hands. "Robin kiss 'n make better?"

Giles smiled softly. "Yes, she did at that."

Alex beamed and nodded, pleased, before his smile slowly faded and he shyly leaned up to whisper something in his father's ear.

Giles chuckled. "You'll have to ask your mother. I'm afraid you have a tendency to kick her out of bed."

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "I suppose you can sleep with us tonight." She held out her hands, and Alex skipped over for her to pick him up. She kissed him on his forehead and shared a look with Giles, a sad, worried, "he might seem okay most of the time, but he sleeps in our bed an awful lot" kind of a look.

Willow didn't envy Buffy and Giles the responsibility of caring for two children who were coming into power so early in their lives. Robin's magic, Alex's dreams, the knowledge that to a ninety-eight percent certainty Robin would be the next slayer and Alex would be… Willow wasn't sure what Alex would be, except that it would be amazing and powerful and probably more than either of his parents had bargained for.

* * *

Giles had chosen the venue with care, although it might have appeared to an outsider that he just couldn't be bothered with more formal arrangements. In truth, he knew the lawyers would not be intimidated by whatever modest meeting accommodations he could manage. Sitting across from them at the Magic Box table or, God forbid, in the chaotic, half-finished room that served as his temporary offices at the construction site, either option would only reinforce their attitudes of smug superiority. They just might, however, find something unsettling about watching a slayer train, seeing power and grace in motion, and so he met with them in the back training room.

"Oh dear," he exclaimed as the small entourage of well-dressed attorneys filed in. "Is it that time already? I must have lost track." He pretended to have forgotten them, motioning awkwardly towards Buffy as if to explain. She was artfully pounding the stuffing out of the training dummy, landing punches and kicks in a blur, the dummy shaking beneath her assault.

"Buffy," he called loudly over the constant thump-thump of her blows. "Why don't you try something a little quieter until I've finished here?" He pulled several throwing knives from their rack on the wall, and casually threw them _at_ her, one after another as fast as his hands could fly. And he was good, not as good as Wesley perhaps, as their last game of darts could attest, but still Giles could have killed with each one of his throws, his aim and speed deadly.

Buffy snatched each from the air, scant centimeters before they touched her body. He motioned her back. Every time she stopped, he waved her back further until she was nearly pressed to the far wall.

"Let's work on your precision at a distance," he told her.

He faced the lawyers again, unfazed as Buffy began throwing the knives back, the blades whizzing through the air between the uneasy new arrivals, not touching any of them, but so close they could feel the rush of air. Each knife stuck into the target board with a soft thud. Giles smiled when he saw Lilah's reaction to their target practice: an 8x10 photograph of herself which Buffy happily outlined in daggers.

"I hope you don't mind," Giles said diplomatically, gesturing vaguely towards Lilah's picture. "But it does seem to give her greater motivation when we train. Now… shall we get right to business?"

Lilah cleared her throat, the other four lawyers she'd brought along for appearances slowly inching their way closer to the exit and away from Buffy's target practice. Lilah, to her credit, remained where she was. "I must admit, Mr. Giles, your offer was… interesting and unexpected."

He pulled the knives from the board and tossed them back to Buffy. "I take it you found my paperwork all in order?" Willow had sent two sets of documents: one to blackmail Lilah and a second to threaten Wolfram and Hart. After all, they needed to provide her with some sort of believable reason to explain her change of heart to her employers. "I imagine the press would have a field day to learn that Wolfram and Hart have been skimming close to eighty percent off the profits of their most cherished charity foundations."

"Overhead gets more expensive every year," she replied caustically. The knives continued to buzz between them as Buffy filled her target with more holes.

"Yes, but people tend to be quite particular about knowing where their money goes." His insinuation hit home; Lilah shifted uncomfortably. She might wish to keep Wolfram and Hart's dirty dealings from receiving public attention, but she would be even more keen on keeping her own embezzlement from the attention of her employer. The lackeys she had brought with her certainly knew nothing of the second, more thorough set of documents that Lilah had received, but Giles knew those files were at the heart of today's negotiation.

She pulled a folded piece of paper from her leather attaché and offered it to him. "A standard client contract. Congratulations, Mr. Giles. You've won this battle. But not the war. You'd do well to remember that."

He closed the distance between them, a dangerous expression on his face, and leaned in close to her, his mouth beside her ear. For her ears only, he had this bit of advice, "I could care less if you cook the books, fail to report a few cash bribes here or there, or otherwise exaggerate your expenses in order to fatten your retirement fund. But from what little I know of Wolfram and Hart, I'm sure they care very much." He grabbed her shoulders hard, smiled thinly against her cheek, a cold, predatory, Ripper grin. "But they are the least of your worries. You'd do well to remember that I am a murderer. You have the proof of it. Just give me a reason to kill again."

He shoved her away roughly, and she stumbled a few steps in her high heels before regaining her balance. "Stay away from me. Stay away from my family. If I never hear from you or your firm again, we'll stay in each other's good graces." He tapped the contract she'd given him against one hand before slipping it into his jacket pocket. "My own attorneys will have a look at this before I sign it. And may I remind you that Angel Investigations are technically under my employ. That means that as I am now your client, so are they, and as such, shall be afforded the same client/attorney privilege. Good day, Ms. Morgan." He pointed towards the door.

Her entourage wasted no time in exiting. She waited a moment longer, staring at Giles with burning hatred or desire, he wasn't sure which. Could it be that this woman actually found losing to be a turn on? A knife through her leather attaché decided her.

"Oops," Buffy said. "I'm generally a good shot, but even slayers miss the mark sometimes."

Lilah glanced between them, squared her shoulders, and departed.

Buffy squealed and came running across the training room, throwing herself into his arms. "We did it!"

"Ow, ow, ow," he protested, easing her out of his arms.

"I'm sorry. Oh, God, I forgot. I'm sorry. Are you okay?" She fawned over him, touching his face, his chest, his sides, as if she could feel for his injuries.

He closed his eyes and drew a tentative breath. It was his ribs more than anything that still bothered him. He nodded and smiled weakly for her. Flexing his fingers and trying to massage out the soreness and cramping in them, he complained, "Remind me to wait a few more weeks before we try anymore knife throwing."

She clasped his hands in her own and took over the task of massaging them. Warm, expert fingers kneading out the tension, he sighed and closed his eyes.

"I can do more than your hands if you like."

He opened his eyes and saw the playful glint in her gaze. "I'm afraid I won't be able to reciprocate."

She shrugged. "I'm sure you can figure out something else to relax me." Her hands worked their way up his arms to his shoulders. "Let's celebrate. We got rid of the lawyers. No more worries about jail. You did the spell with Willow, so no fear of magic-enhanced three-year-old… almost four-year-old tantrums from either kid. Life is good." She kissed him. "Very, very good."

"Lock the door."

"Gladly."

* * *

"I'm four!" Alex informed the new arrivals happily, holding out the appropriate number of digits.

"Yes, you are," Wesley answered as Cordelia ruffled the birthday boy's hair. "You're getting to be a very big boy. I'm sure your parents are very proud of you."

Alex beamed, and his father laughed, pulling him out of the doorway. "Let's not keep our guests standing on the porch, Alex."

"Especially guests bearing presents," Cordelia added.

Alex bounced and clapped his hands eagerly. "Mine?"

"Some of them," she laughed. "But some of them are for your sister. You wouldn't want those anyway. They're icky girl presents." She held out the hand not currently juggling packages. "Show me where these go, 'kay, kiddo?"

Alex led her off, and Giles motioned the other watcher inside.

"Fred and Gunn would have come," Wesley apologized, "but we do still have clients, and it seemed unwise to bring all of Angel Investigations."

"I understand."

"And Angel…" Wesley tapered off.

Giles' mood darkened.

"Angel sent gifts for the children and wished them…" Wesley again trailed off, this time in thought, as if trying to make sure he quoted the vampire correctly. "…wished them free of their mother's 'birthday curse,' whatever that means."

Giles chuckled softly, his mind still dwelling on Angel and the memories that were not even a week old, turning his laughter dark and bitter.

"Angel would have liked to come, but he didn't think you or Buffy either one were ready for that."

"I appreciate his consideration." Giles absently rubbed at his aching fingers, remembering the sharp pain as each one of them had cracked.

Wesley sighed. "I am sorry for what you suffered, but Angel had nothing to do with Darla's actions. I hope you won't let this become an issue between you."

Ah, yes, it wasn't Angel, but Darla; it wasn't Angel, but Angelus. It was never, never Angel. He'd heard that chorus a thousand times through the years, from others and from himself. It didn't change the fact that he remembered Angel's face, Angel's voice, that he wanted to shrink into a corner when Angel entered the room. Intellect be damned, his heart couldn't just accept the facts on a moment's notice. Angel would have his clean slate again, but Giles needed time to heal first.

"And have you spoken to Faith recently? How is she getting on?" Giles knew it was a low blow, but it shut Wesley up on the subject of Angel.

They strolled into the backyard, the noise of nearly twenty squealing preschoolers hitting them like a force ten hurricane.

"Dear Lord," Wesley murmured.

Giles agreed with his fellow countryman.

The theme of the party was indistinguishable, because Buffy had been unable to decide on any one, and so had chosen to mix them all together. Robin had wanted fairies, and so she and several of the other little girls wore little fairy wings as they frolicked about the yard, Robin covered in a generous amount of glitter so she shimmered in the sunlight. Alex had wanted something different every time they asked him: racecars, and Harry Potter, and the Lion King, and Narnia, and he had begged for a pool party and stormed off to his room in tears when they both said no. He wore a little wizard's hat and a lightning bolt painted on his forehead and argued with the other children over whose turn it was on the little go-carts, which Giles had groaned would tear up the grass and Buffy had insisted would be worth it. There was a clown and a juggler, three-legged races, pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, and piñatas. Despite the party's lack of pony rides or lion tamers, their backyard had become a complete and utter circus of activity.

"You can see why I've stationed myself at the front door as welcoming committee."

Wesley nodded. "Do you require assistance?"

But Cordelia was waving him over to help dish out ice cream, and Giles abandoned the other watcher to return to the relative peace afforded him inside.

More children were dropped off by their parents, and Giles directed them to the backyard. He wondered where Buffy had found all of them, as he couldn't remember Alex and Robin having so many actual friends. Next came more of Xander's construction buddies: large, strong men who always gushed over the twins whenever Giles brought them onsite.

And then came a very unexpected guest.

"Hello, Ripper."

Giles didn't move from the door or invite the other man inside.

Ethan held up two neatly wrapped presents. "Come on, now. I've even brought gifts for the little brats."

"Now, I wonder why I have such a strong aversion to any gifts you might bring for my children?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "They're harmless, boring books. Same rot you probably liked at their age. Let's call it a truce, old mate, pretend we actually like each other for the day."

"Ha! You can bloody well go to hell, Ethan. The last time I saw you, you had a hand in kidnapping my children."

"And a hand in getting them back - the boy at least."

"Ah, your chaos spell, which I've long since undone."

"And what about my recent acts of goodwill? Little witch asked for _my_ help, which I generously provided. Got you off the hook with those lawyers, didn't it? And I undid your shortsighted spell on her magic in time to save your precious slayer, didn't I?"

"After which you bunked off to retrieve the ring from said lawyers." Giles held out his hand, palm up, and cleared his throat significantly. "The Ring of Gorlois, which I would have to be crazy to even consider leaving in your possession."

A slow grin spread over Ethan's face, an expression Giles knew all too well. "Believe me when I say you don't want the ring, my friend. Let the lawyers have their fun with it."

Giles narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Ethan," he warned, his tone becoming threatening. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Ethan feigned outrage at Giles' mistrust. "Nothing horrible, at any rate. It's just a bit stickier than they remember it. Might be rather hard… well, alright, _impossible_ to remove. Gives new meaning to the parental warning: 'Careful or your face will freeze like that.' And isn't that way more fun than simply stealing the ring back?"

Giles knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help but laugh. He hoped Lilah would be the one to give the ring a try. He somehow doubted she would choose her new persona wisely. Ethan was laughing as well, and there was something comfortable about it, in spite of all the things that had come between them, the two of them laughing together until they were out of breath, and Ethan hadn't even needed to get him drunk first.

"Little Willow-tree said you missed me, Ripper, that you might be willing to bury the hatchet."

"Bury it _in_ you maybe." But the animosity and anger had faded from his voice, replaced with the teasing banter from their youth. He had missed Ethan.

"So… Going to introduce the kiddies to their Uncle Ethan?"

Giles shook his head sadly, the laughter fading. "I'm sorry, but I can't trust you, Ethan, not with anyone I care about."

His old friend nodded, not angry or disappointed, just resigned. "I know. Can't expect a tiger to change his stripes after so many years. And I can't exactly live in your world either. Too structured, too controlled, too… too…" He made a face and said the last as if it were a dirty word. "Too _orderly_."

Giles tilted his head in acknowledgment of the gulf between them. They looked into each other's eyes for several moments, and for once there was no hostility between them. Giles smiled at his old friend. "Is there a place in the middle, between chaos and order? I would… would like to see you sometimes, I think."

"Come out for drinks with me tonight, after you've tired of the birthday festivities. Bring the fair witch along if she's game." Ethan gestured with his chin, and Giles turned around. Willow was walking through the dining room towards them.

"Giles, Buffy says to stop hiding out in here and get your butt out in the backyard. It's time to open pressies." She stopped abruptly when she caught sight of Ethan. "Oh, hi. You coming too?"

"No, I just stopped by to invite Ripper out for an evening of debauchery." He quirked one eyebrow at her. "Care to join us? I'm always up for a threesome."

She crinkled her nose at him. "Ewww. You are disgusting, Ethan, and being locked in a room with you for a whole day is more than enough Ethan-time to last me a while."

He glanced back and forth between them. "Your magic seems more or less intact. Quite the day for mending fences, it would appear."

Willow stammered something unintelligible and beat a hasty retreat back outside.

Ethan's smile grew wider. "She's amazing. Power, ambition, with just enough recklessness to make things interesting. Your girl may be the Slayer, Ripper, and downright gorgeous to boot, but this one's got her beat, hands down."

Giles laughed again, a full-throated laugh that bent him in half as he tried to catch his breath, a hand to his side in an effort to contain the stabbing pain from his ribs. "Oh, my poor Ethan, forever doomed to rejection. Willow's quite gay, and no matter how effeminate you may appear, I'm afraid she won't look twice at you."

Ethan scowled. "Just for that, see if I don't slip something in your drink tonight."

"I'll meet you at eleven. Same bar as before." Giles shut the door, still chuckling as he made his way out into the backyard. The horde of rambunctious, sugar-fueled children cheered his arrival loudly. Apparently, they had been waiting for him before beginning the present opening activities.

Giles worked his way over to Willow, sliding an arm around her and giving her a playful wink. "It would seem you have an admirer." She blushed and ducked her head. Giles squeezed her shoulder, his demeanor becoming more serious. He murmured to her softly, "Be careful, Willow. I'm serious. Ethan has his eye on you, and he'll play on your sympathies, perhaps even convince you he's trying to reform. He'll feed you sweet lies, but he's a slave to the Chaos. You can't forget that."

"He was so nice to me, Giles, when everything was so awful, when all I could think about was you going to jail, losing you forever, and then what Darla did to you…" Giles squeezed her shoulder again, and she rested her cheek against him. "He was nice to me when I needed it."

"I'm sure he was. Ethan can be decent sometimes."

"And you two are friends again, right? I mean, it seemed like you weren't hating each other. Plus, Ethan wasn't bleeding. Would it be so bad if I was his friend, too? Maybe that would be good for him."

"The difference is that I know what I'm getting into. If I choose to be friends with Ethan, I also know well enough not to turn my back on him. He can be kind, Willow, but he's still dangerous. Just promise me you'll be careful? You'll come to me if you ever have any concerns about him?"

She nodded against his shoulder, and he gave her another half-hug. Buffy was waving him over to the main table then, and the twins were clamoring to show him some of the presents they'd already unwrapped, and so he slipped away from Willow's side, putting Ethan out of his mind for the time being, vowing to himself to keep a close eye on whatever relationship sparked between the two of them.

The twins were eagerly opening the mound of presents the party guests had brought for them. They had made a fairly good dent in the pile when Giles motioned for Marianne to bring down his own gift.

"Would you like to open Daddy's present now?"

It was really more of a rhetorical question, as he hardly expected either of them to refuse. But they each answered quite noisily in the affirmative, begging to know which of the boxes was his, and if it was the biggest, and if it might be one of the things they had asked for.

"Marianne's gone upstairs to get it, and no, it's not anything you've asked for. But I think you'll like it all the same." Buffy gave him a suspicious look, which he ignored. "Now, it's one gift for the two of you, so you'll have to share."

Alex and Robin glared at each other. Sharing was not usually a voluntary action between the two of them. The drawback of having been only children for three years, he supposed.

"Will you be able to share, or shall I take your present back?"

They each turned up wide, desperate eyes to him, shaking their heads emphatically. No, no, they would share, they insisted.

Buffy pinched him to get his attention and whispered in his ear, "You're making me nervous here, Giles. We got them each a b-i-k-e, but you never mentioned getting them something from just you, something they have to share. What is it?"

"You'll see," he replied enigmatically, kissing her on the cheek.

Marianne carefully made her way through the press of children around the table, holding a medium sized box, still unwrapped, because that would have been rather difficult to accomplish, but topped with a bright bow on the lid.

"Giles," Buffy gasped, nudging him hard enough to make him flinch. "There are holes in the box. Why are there holes in the box?"

Marianne deposited the box in front of the twins, who immediately lifted off the lid and stuck their heads inside, knocking foreheads.

"A puppy!" they shrieked, four hands lifting the poor sleeping creature from its cardboard bed.

"A puppy!" Buffy shrieked a moment later, turning outraged eyes in his direction.

"Yes, well…" Giles cleared his throat and shifted guiltily. "I thought it should be my turn to spoil them."

Robin had claimed the pup first, a small chocolate lab that gently licked the face she pressed close. Alex skipped over to give his father a crushing hug.

"Tank you, Daddy," his son gushed, tilting his face up for a kiss.

"Tank you, Giles," Robin echoed, the puppy beginning to squirm in her arms.

"You're welcome," he told them both, aiming a wide smile in Buffy's direction. "My gift would appear to be a hit."

"Showoff," she grumbled. "You can clean up after it and walk it and feed it, and it is sooo not sleeping in our bed."

She did seem annoyed with him. Maybe he should have discussed it with her first. He would apologize for it later. For now, he would worm their new family addition into her good graces. "Robin, let Mummy hold the puppy while you both finish opening your presents."

Only the promise of more presents distracted the twins from their new pet, and Buffy quickly found herself holding an armful of adorable, squirming cuteness, licking her face and everything. How could she possibly resist that?

She crinkled her nose up. "Ewww. I think it just peed on me."

The children all giggled, and she passed the puppy over to Giles, disappearing into the house to change.

He set the little thing on the ground to finish its business. A pair of legs stopped in front of him, and he glanced up.

"In the doghouse?" John punned.

"Ha bloody ha." Giles lifted the pup back up when it was finished. Its whole back end was wagging with its tail.

"You should name it Lucky."

"And why is that?"

John grinned. "Because you won't be getting lucky for at least a month."

"You are enjoying this far too much."

"Hey, if you can't laugh at your fellow man's misfortune, what point is there to life?"

"There must be someone else here you can pester. I don't think Marianne's seen the latest photos of your grandson."

The puppy continued to squirm in his arms, wanting down to run and play, something Giles didn't think was wise in this sea of tots. Xander and Willow saved him the bother of looking after the thing when they came over to admire Robin and Alex's gift, scooping the pup from his arms and spiriting it off.

Robin and Alex were still diligently working their way through their birthday gifts, a tangle of wrapping paper at their feet and a stack of opened presents to either side of them.

Wesley stepped forward and offered them each his own gifts. "It's not a puppy," he apologized. Nothing else could quite top that gift, but the children still seemed pleased with everything they received.

Robin opened hers first: a small wooden sword. Alex had a matching gift, but it had different implications for Robin. Beneath her sword, lay a larger sword with a wooden handle, its grip large enough to suit an adult. Giles met Wesley's eyes across the table. They'd had many discussions about this. Four years old was the typical age at which a potential slayer began her training, at least in the old ways of the Watchers' Council. While Wesley had been willing to back Giles up when Travers had threatened to force him into training her, it was a different matter altogether now that Robin was the only potential slayer left. She would be the next slayer, and that meant she needed to be trained for it. As a watcher, Wesley had insisted that Robin receive such training, but he was not her father. Giles found it much harder to cut such black and white rules where she was concerned.

He reached over Robin's shoulder and picked up the wooden sword that was meant for him. He couldn't imagine ever using it, couldn't imagine ever sparring with his daughter as he did with Buffy, not now, not ever.

The children had no qualms about using their toy weaponry however: the clack, clack of wood smacking together rang out across the yard. They knocked a few boxes from the table in the midst of their eager play, hopefully nothing breakable. Giles confiscated the wooden swords quickly, promising they could play with them later, while supervised in the training room.

Xander whistled. "Wes, man, I know you're new to the whole annoying gift giving gig, but wooden swords… Stroke of genius, especially with the whole twin thing. Wish I'd thought of it."

Giles spied Buffy returning from changing her clothes, and he hurriedly gathered the swords back into their box, knowing she would go ballistic if she saw them, knowing she would deduce the meaning behind the gifts more readily than Xander.

"Okay, where's the leaky little monster?"

"Leaky," the twins chorused together, giggling.

"Oh dear," Giles groaned. "Why do I foresee an unfortunate moniker for our new addition?"

Assorted guests pointed towards where Willow and Anya were playing tug of war with the puppy. Zoey sat in the shelter of her mother's arms, watching with wide eyes, still deciding whether she wanted to be afraid of the puppy or play with it.

Giles took advantage of Buffy's return to slip into the house, motioning for Wesley to follow him. They stopped in the kitchen, and Giles placed the box with the swords on the island counter.

He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes wearily. He had endured too much in the last week to deal with this now, but neither would it accomplish anything to delay the inevitable conversation. "We've had many discussions about my daughter's training, Wesley."

"I know. And I was willing to set aside Council precedent on the chance that she would never be Called. But as much as you'd like to avoid the issue, as much as you'd like to pretend things were different, Robin _will_ be the next slayer. The chances of Faith living until… even in prison… it's almost nonexistent. The only responsible thing we can do is to plan for Robin's eventual future."

"I can't do it. Buffy was my slayer before she was anything else to me. She'll always be my slayer, first, foremost, and always. Robin is my daughter. I'll never be able to see her as anything else."

Wesley's voice hardened, his stance showing some of the backbone he had developed since leaving Sunnydale. "She must be trained. As much as you dislike the prospect, surely you must realize that if you deny her this, you greatly decrease her chances of survival. Training will buy her time, maybe enough time to have something like the life you've given Buffy."

"I know. You're right. But I can't do it." Giles removed the wooden sword from the box, the one meant for him, and offered it out, hilt first, to Wesley. "I can't be her Watcher."

Wesley was struck speechless by the gesture and made no move to grasp the hilt. Giles felt rather silly holding out the wooden sword, nothing more than an oversized child's toy, and bequeathing it to a fellow adult as if it were the Holy Grail. On the other hand, objects become imbued with the significance given them, and this was arguably one of the most critical decisions he would ever make. Somehow the sheer magnitude of his choice transformed the plain timber into something sacred, as precious as any ancient text or mystical artifact.

Wesley seemed to understand this, and so when he finally did take the toy sword from Giles' hands, it was with great reverence and humble awe.

Giles fixed the younger watcher with a stern glare. "I'm warning you right now: I'll fight you tooth and nail for every last shred of normality I can keep in her life."

Wesley nodded, accepting this, and returned the glare with one of equal resolve. "And I'll fight you just as hard to make sure she gets the training necessary to keep her alive."

"Then here's the first battle we'll wage: you'll not train her 'til she's ten."

Wesley's resolve quickly turned to outrage. "While I agree that four is terribly young, no matter how the Council has done it for centuries, your daughter is in a unique situation: It's highly possible she could be Called before then."

"Even if she is, she'll not take up the mantle of Slayer until she's at least fifteen."

"Well then, we'll simply have to reschedule any impending apocalypses to fit in with your timetable, won't we?"

"I'm serious about this. It's the age Buffy was Called. It's the age most slayers are. She won't go before then."

Wesley seemed inclined to argue, but let the matter drop for now, perhaps deciding to take a wait-and-see approach, to pick his battles when they became unavoidable and not before. But the stubborn set of his chin clearly indicated that he would not simply bow to Giles' will, now or in the future. And Giles would not have it any other way. Robin deserved a watcher who would fight for her.

"There is something else you should know." Giles glanced behind him, to assure himself that they were still alone. Earlier, they had decided to limit the number of people who knew this important detail. It was safer for Robin that way. "She will have magic. To the best of my knowledge, she will be the first to be both slayer and mage."

"That's… that's quite unprecedented. Are you certain?"

Giles flexed his fingers absently. "Positive. She's come into her power already. She… she healed the worst of my injuries." He took a deep breath, raised his hand to stall Wesley's questions. "Willow and I warded her magic. We believe the spell will hold until it's lifted, and then… she'll need to be trained for that as well. I can help with that part of her education. Willow, too. But I don't know how it will affect a slayer's gifts, the magic. I just thought you should know."

Wesley nodded thoughtfully.

Xander walked into the kitchen at that moment, took in the sight of Wesley holding the wooden sword, and grabbed for one of the twins' smaller weapons. "En garde," he cried dramatically, making a few half-hearted feints before Giles disarmed him from behind.

"Now see here," Xander explained. "No fair confiscating the kiddies' toys to play with them yourselves." He pointed a scolding finger at Giles. "That goes double for Alex's new drums."

Giles rolled his eyes, the mood suitably lightened with the young man's entrance.

"Time for birthday cake and candles." Xander lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Buffy got the kind that won't blow out." He wrapped an arm around each of the watchers and escorted them back outside.

There would be time enough later to research and deliberate, to seek portents and signs, to shape the course of one girl's destiny and to mold the gifts given her by fate. For now, her father and her watcher would celebrate her fourth birthday together and leave all the rest for another day.

* * *

Ethan lounged in a corner booth, his back placed cautiously to the wall, and watched the early evening crowd gathering for a pint after work. He was surprised by how much he was looking forward to seeing Ripper. Knowing that the meeting was unlikely to involve him getting his teeth knocked down his throat was also a bonus. Maybe this could become a regular event, the pair of them spending time together on neutral territory, toasting old times and dead friends.

Ethan knew it couldn't last. It wasn't in his nature to conform, and sooner or later he'd cross the line again and Ripper'd show him the door. But until then, they could enjoy each other's company, could reminiscence about things that no one else could possibly understand, because no one else was left to remember.

And then there was Willow. Ripper had misunderstood Ethan's interest, had laughed off his admiration and informed him quite bluntly that she was gay. And while Ethan's imagination could appreciate the fantasy of two women in his bed, he was far more interested in the witch's power than her body. More than a day locked in Lilah's office with her, trading insults, thrust into an unwilling partnership, only confirmed his initial gut instinct.

Willow was a prize worth earning.

He could see that she hungered for the kind of knowledge Ripper would never give her. She had decided to walk the straight and narrow for now, but he could also see that she might be easily tempted to stray from the path. He wanted to show her how much more interesting life could be if one skipped the museum tour, took risks, broke rules. He wanted to take her under his wing and show her the world. She would be the student who rose above her teacher, his protégé, his legacy, his ultimate gift to Chaos.

And so Ethan would drink with his old friend, and mend fences, and actually behave for once in his life.

Because Ripper was his way to Willow.

* * *

Wesley waited for Cordelia to unlock the door, but she just stood there in the hallway.

"Cordelia?"

"You know, I think it just hit me that he's not going to be there when I walk through the door."

His own thoughts had been so preoccupied with the unexpected duty bestowed upon him that afternoon, he had completely forgotten about Dennis' passing. It seemed odd somehow to mourn someone who had already died. Then again, very little in their lives could be considered normal.

"We don't have to stay here if it upsets you."

She nodded. "Let's go back to the Hyperion. I'm sure Angel has a spare room or eighty he could lend us for the night. It is a hotel, after all."

She turned to go, and he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "I didn't mean just for tonight, Cordelia. I meant… We could stay somewhere else _permanently_… A place of our own, a place that was ours."

"Oh." She considered that for a moment. "Okay."

Just like that. In just one day he'd become both watcher to a potential slayer and live-in boyfriend to Cordelia Chase.

* * *

The bedroom light was still on when he tiptoed up the stairs, much later than he had intended on returning home. The stairs seemed to be rocking slightly, and he grabbed at the banister for balance. _Going to feel like hell in the morning,_ he thought to himself.

Buffy was sitting up in bed, reading a book, exactly as he had left her after the evening's patrol. Of course she had waited up for him. She considered the whole idea of drinking with Ethan to be a very bad one. Earlier, she had reminded him of the laundry list of Ethan's sins against them, before finally sending him out the door with cab fare and stalking up to their bedroom for a good sulk. If Spike had still been around, Giles suspected he would have had an assigned shadow for the evening. As it was, police cars happened by the pub more often than strictly necessary.

She set aside her book at his approach and gave him the disapproving look which used to be his stock and trade. She could tell straightaway he was drunk. No point trying to cover it up.

"Evening, luv. You get the pup squared away for the night?" A tried and true tactic: distracting her from one bad judgment call by reminding her of another.

She sighed, his evening's carousing with Ethan momentarily forgotten. "I put him in his little cage to go to sleep, but he cried for like an hour."

He sat on the edge of the bed hard, misjudging both the distance and the coordination of his limbs. "I am deeply sorry about the puppy, Buffy. I should have discussed it with you first."

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission?"

He chuckled. "That wasn't my intention. I really thought you would adore him as much as the children."

She blushed and lowered her lashes coyly. "Well, ummm… about that." She slowly peeled back the blankets, and there was the little chocolate lab, snuggled against her leg and sleeping soundly.

"Buffy!"

"Well, okay, he is really cute, and he was all sad and pathetic, crying in that little cage, and I couldn't help it."

He kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed beside her. Reaching out with one hand, he pulled her close enough for a kiss. She squirmed slightly, perhaps wanting to keep up the pretense of still being angry with him, but he didn't stop kissing her until she'd relaxed against him. Just enough of Ripper left in him from the booze to still make the girls melt.

"I'm assuming, then, that you don't wish me to take him back?"

"Nah, I guess Leaky can stay."

He groaned as he flopped back on the bed, drawing the puppy over to rest against his chest. "You're not seriously considering naming him that?" He lifted the little dog into air as he stared at him speculatively. "You do realize he's the tie-breaker. The women of the house are now officially outnumbered for the first time since I moved here, and I think he needs an appropriately masculine name."

"Because 'Rupert' just screams 'I'm big and tough and don't mess with me?'"

"People in glass houses, Miss Buffy."

"Yeah, well, the twins seemed pretty decided on 'Leaky,' and he is their dog, after all."

The puppy yawned and pawed his feet in the air, searching for solid ground. Giles laid him back down on his chest and pet him fondly. "Oh well, I did try to stick up for you, you poor thing."

"You still should have asked me first," Buffy grumbled as she snuggled up next to him.

"Yes, you're right, I should have." He stroked the puppy quietly for a moment, thinking of other decisions he had made that night. She hadn't exactly been happy about him allowing Ethan back in his life, however marginally, but she at least had the sense to know she didn't get a say in his friends anymore than he got a say in her vocation. But Robin was another matter altogether.

He turned his head to look at his slayer and his wife. She was scratching behind the puppy's ears and making cute faces at it as it made a few sleepy attempts to lick her nose.

"Buffy, you do know that there are other decisions that I have to make without you, right?"

"Like what clothes to wear and what to eat for breakfast? You seem pretty capable on those fronts. Although, you might need a little help with the 'when to stop drinking' kinds of decisions, 'cause you don't have the best track record there, and if I wake up tomorrow with some kind of slimy demon in my bed, Ethan is going to wish he was never born."

"At the moment, I wish _I_ was never born. And maybe this isn't the best conversation for me to be having while I'm two sheets to the wind, but it's the first chance I've had to speak with you alone since this afternoon, and I want to get it off my chest. After the whole blackmail fiasco, I don't want to have secrets between us, not even for a day."

She stopped fussing over the puppy and propped herself up on one elbow. "I'm thinking this can't be good. Well, you already have the little red two-door convertible, so it can't be that, unless you bought something even more midlife crisis, like one of those little Porsches, which, personally, I always thought looked like little toy cars."

"It's not a car, Buffy."

"You didn't invite Ethan to crash here, did you? He's not downstairs on the couch or something, is he? 'Cause that's where I draw the line."

"No, Ethan has gone… wherever Ethan is staying. I didn't ask."

"Okay, so what did you do that you should have asked me about first?"

"I honestly can't remember. You keep changing the subject, and my thoughts are swimming in half a bottle of Jack Daniels." He held one finger up in triumph. "Wait, I've got it. Not something I should have asked you. I was trying to explain why I had to decide this on my own. A decision I had to make as a watcher, you see."

"That's fine, honey, but you do remember that your slayer doesn't listen to most of your decisions anyway?"

"Not about you. About Robin." He clenched his eyes shut. The drinks were beginning to catch up with him in a headache sort of way, and he wanted to get through this while he still could. "There are parental decisions which we share. But this one I made as the head of the Council, and it was mine alone." He opened his eyes again. "I asked Wesley to be Robin's Watcher."

He braced himself for the inevitable tirade. Perhaps he should have waited until he'd fully recovered from an evening out with Ethan.

But she only looked sad, not angry. "You're not going to teach her?"

"I can't. I honestly can't."

"Okay."

He frowned. Buffy never failed to surprise him. "Okay? Just okay? You're not angry with me? I just made what could possibly be one of the most important decisions regarding our daughter's life without even consulting your opinion. You should be just a little bit angry at least."

"You always expect me to get angry at the wrong things. I wasn't mad about Longsworth and Sulla; I was mad you didn't tell me. And now you're telling me about Wesley and Robin, and it really is okay, Giles. I get it. I'm the Slayer, and you're my Watcher, and we're a team. But then you're also rebuilding the Council on top of that, which is a whole separate thing. You don't come down to the precinct and tell me how to run my cases, and I don't tell you how to run the Council. Sometimes you ask my opinion, and sometimes you don't, and sometimes I just give it to you anyway, but in the end it's your call, your responsibility. So you made Wesley Robin's watcher. That's your job. And when more potential slayers are born, you'll give them watchers, too."

"When did you get to be so wise?" he murmured.

She started to strip his clothes off, making a face at the cigarette smoke still clinging to them. "I've always been this wise. You're just now starting to notice."

He snorted, then giggled. It was only partially the whiskey.

"Besides, this means we can just be Mommy and Daddy, right? Wesley can be in charge of all the watcher stuff, and we can worry about all the normal stuff, and Robin will hopefully grow up to be the kind of slayer who is fully capable of telling her watcher to go stuff himself."

"I suppose you'll teach her that?"

"Tormenting Your Watcher 101, as can only be taught by one slayer to another."

"Come here, slayer." He kissed her until the puppy wiggled between them, and they pulled apart, laughing. He settled for curling up beside her and falling asleep in peaceful contentment.

Slayer and Watcher. No secrets between them. No lies. Giles felt free, as he hadn't since making that call to the Council's black ops. Free of Longsworth and Sulla, free of his own guilt, free of Lilah's threats. A free man with wife, son, daughter, friends.

He slept without dreams in the shelter of Buffy's arms.

* * *

Lilah fidgeted in her seat and crossed her arms. Granted, crossing her arms only reminded her that there was nothing left of her chest to interfere with that action. Crossing her legs was also a whole new experience.

She glared at Gavin Parks, who was sitting next to her and couldn't seem to stop staring. "This is all your fault," she told him venomously.

"_My_ fault? In what possible way is this _my_ fault?"

"You let them go! The slayer would be dead, and Angel would be dark, and I would be having drinks right now with the junior partners to celebrate my new promotion if it weren't for you."

"And who told you to put the ring on?"

"How was I to know it wouldn't come off again?" Lilah tried to run her fingers through her hair in frustration, but she had much less than she remembered.

"We could always cut your finger off. I'm sure your health plan would cover another."

"But the ring would still be _on_ my finger, even if my finger weren't attached to my body, and so the damn spell would still be in effect."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," a voice scolded from behind. Nathan Reed entered the conference room and closed the door behind him. He glanced back and forth between the two lawyers with undisguised amusement. "It would appear we have an interesting dilemma on our hands. Until Wolfram and Hart can find a way to rectify the situation, we'd like to take advantage of it."

He looked back and forth between them again, this time with confusion. "Mr. Parks?"

Gavin raised his hand. "That would be me."

Nathan smiled. "Then you must be Lilah."

Lilah Morgan, stuck in a replica of Gavin Park's body, courtesy of the ring of Gorlois which Ethan had cursed, raised her hand. "Yeah, that would be me."

Finis - June 26, 2002

Next: Unchosen  
Part 1: We Don't Always Get What We Want  
Giles wanted to prevent his daughter from inheriting her mother's destiny. He wanted to give his son the choice he never had. He wanted Buffy to live a lifetime beside him. Fate had other plans...


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